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Kaito was looking for his wooden sword. That was the only reason he was in the back corridor at all. Haruki had hidden it; he was certain of it if he was going by last night's look of rage when he had hidden his book. He moved an old can and set it aside as he looked behind it…nope, not here either. Kaito sighed. He was sure it was somewhere among the old storage boxes and forgotten clutter that had accumulated behind the storage shed.
What he found instead were his fathers.
They were pressed against the weathered wooden wall of the shed, Obanai's back against the splintered planks, Sanemi's hand tangled in Obanai's dark hair and the other in his pants. Obanai's arms were wrapped around Sanemi's waist. They were so into kissing that they didn't realise Kaito had walked in on them.
Kaito's sandals scuffed against the ground. He froze, his eyes wide, his heart hammering. He had seen them kissing each other before, but the hand part…eww… Kaito closed his eyes and turned to leave, but luck was not on his side, and he stumbled on the can that he had just put there. The loud noise was like a thunderclap, and Kaito closed his hands in fists…just his luck… He was sure he was going to get scolded.
Sanemi and Obanai broke apart at the sound, Sanemi's hand flying out of Obanai's pants and hitting him on his chin. Obanai let out a soft 'oof', and Sanemi turned frantically between him and his son, who was staring at them in horror. Sanemi's face flushed a deep red that clashed spectacularly with his white hair. Obanai's ears went pink as he turned away, adjusting his clothes and rubbing his chin, but his expression remained carefully neutral, the mask of composure he had worn for years snapping back into place.
"I didn't see anything," Kaito said, his voice cracking on the last word.
He turned and ran, stumbling over the can again, and if his shin hurt, who cared? At least he had gotten out of there unscathed.
Yuki was closest to the corridor when Kaito sprinted past her, his face pale, his eyes wide, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.
"What happened?" she asked. "Why do you look so terrified?"
"Nothing happened," Kaito said, not slowing down. "Nothing happened, and I didn't see anything, and I'm never speaking again."
"That's obviously not true," Yuki said, breaking into a run to follow him. "You're talking right now. And you saw something. You have the same face you had when you stepped on Hayate's cat."
Kaito stopped in indignation.
"That was different!"
"Was it? Because you're making the same scared face."
"I am not making any face!"
Yuki crossed her arms and looked at her younger brother like she had all the authority in the world, and in a sense she did. Kaito was more scared of her than his parents.
"Nothing, neechan," Kaito said, putting on his most innocent expression, and ran in the hopes of finding his mother.
Haruki was in the main hall, his book open on his lap, when Kaito burst through the door. He looked up from his reading, his mismatched eyes settling on his elder brother with the patient expression he had inherited from Obanai.
"What did you break?" Haruki asked, and Kaito bristled… It was his fault.
"It's all your fault," Kaito snapped.
"What?" Haruki asked, puzzled.
"You hid my wooden sword," Kaito blamed, and Haruki rolled his eyes.
"No, I did not."
"You did."
"I did not."
"Did too."
"Did not."
"Did too."
"Will you two stop it?" Yuki said as she came into the room, obviously following Kaito.
"Neechan, Haruki hid my wooden sword!" Kaito said, red in the face, pointing the finger at the liar that was his brother.
"Akari hid your sword because she's angry at you for hitting her last time you were practising, Kaito," Yuki revealed. Kaito gaped at her and thought that he had the worst siblings ever.
"You all are the worst!" Kaito exclaimed. Yuki raised her eyebrow.
"What did you say?" she asked.
"That you all are the worst. If my sword hadn't been hidden, then I wouldn't be searching for it, and then I wouldn't have…wouldn't have…" Kaito trailed off, blushing to his roots. Yuki and Haruki shared a look of confusion.
"What happened, Kaito?" Yuki asked, her voice softening, and Kaito gulped, on the verge of revealing it, when Sanemi rushed in, and that was all Kaito needed to run away again from his flustered father and his frantic shouts.
It was as he rounded the corner that he collided with his mother, and Kaito breathed a sigh of relief and hid behind Giyu's knees.
"Kaachan, save me…they all are going to kill me," Kaito said. It was a good thing that he was behind Giyu, for he did not see the way Giyu rolled his eyes. Giyu turned to face Kaito, his face neutral, and asked,
"Who's going to kill you?"
"Tochan, Otosan, Neechan, and I think Haru too…yes, Haru too…" Kaito said, nodding his head. Giyu's lips twitched, and Kaito pouted. Giyu pulled Kaito into his arms, kissing his cheek.
"Your fathers are not going to kill you, Kaito. They love you too much to do that, and I am sure Yuki and Haru also don't plan to harm you in any way."
"You sure?" Kaito asked, frowning.
"Yes, I am sure. Now tell me what happened." Giyu coaxed him. Kaito relaxed, hesitated a little, and then in a rush explained everything that happened, and by the end of it, Giyu was controlling his laughter.
"I am sorry you saw that."
"I know I am sorry too. I don't think I can ever forget that…it was not a good sight," Kaito whispered, looking behind Giyu to make sure they were alone.
Giyu ruffled his hair as he laughed quietly. Kaito relaxed seeing Giyu laugh, and since there was no apparent doom on the horizon, he continued,
"Are they supposed to kiss each other? Did you know they did that?" Kaito whispered.
"Yes, they love each other too, like they love me, and I love them, and yes, I knew about that," Giyu answered honestly. Kaito made a disgusted face.
"That is disgusting," he declared, and Giyu pinched his cheeks.
"No, it's not."
"It is too," Kaito said, shaking his head and screaming in laughter when Giyu tickled him.
"Kaacchaaannnn…"
When Giyu saw Sanemi and Obanai next, he laughed till tears streamed from his eyes, much to the displeasure of his alphas and much to the confusion of his children, well, all except Kaito.
"I am glad you find this so amusing, Giyu," Sanemi murmured. Obanai, on the other hand, just turned red and refused to meet anyone's eyes, his chin still red.
Giyu stopped laughing when Kaito yelled at Akari and demanded his sword back. Akari righteously claimed that he wouldn't be getting it till he learnt how to not hit people passing by. Obanai ordered Akari to give Kaito his sword back, and Akari looked at Yuki accusingly, who looked away, her ears pinking. Giyu scolded Kaito for not being careful with his sword, and Haruki just sighed, shaking his head at the ceiling. Looking around, Giyu asked,
"Where is Ren?"
And another flurry started searching for the youngest. It was just another chaotic day in Giyu's home.
Akaza appeared at the Water Estate gate on a Tuesday afternoon with a wooden chest under one arm and a look of purposeful determination that immediately made Giyu want to close the gate and pretend no one was home.
"Giyu-chan!" Akaza called out cheerfully. "I've come to educate your offspring."
"Absolutely not, and I told you not to call me that," Giyu said.
"I am going to teach the children about Heian-era courtship traditions," Akaza continued, as if Giyu hadn't spoken. "The poems. The rituals. The proper way for an alpha to…"
"No."
"Yes," said all five children simultaneously from behind him.
Giyu turned. They had appeared from various corners of the estate with the supernatural speed children reserved exclusively for things their parents did not want them to do. Haruki had somehow materialised from the library with a book already tucked under his arm. Yuki had clearly been eavesdropping. Kaito was practically vibrating with excitement. Ren had apparently abandoned his frog for the occasion. Akari was already settling herself into a cross-legged position.
"How did you even know he was here?" Giyu demanded.
"We heard the gate," Haruki said.
"We always hear the gate," Yuki added. "We have very good ears."
"Uncle Akaza promised last time he would tell us about the old days," Kaito said, with the air of someone presenting legal evidence. "He said he would teach us about the Heian court. He promised."
"Kaachan," Akari said, looking up at him with pleading eyes, "we want to learn. It's important to know about history."
Giyu looked at Akaza. Akaza looked at Giyu with the serene expression of a man who knew he had already won. He had that look about him always – the look of someone who had once lived through centuries of scheming and politics and was therefore utterly unimpressed by the concept of one Hashira saying no to him.
"One hour," Giyu said finally. "One hour. And if you teach them anything inappropriate…"
"I would never," Akaza interrupted him and swept past him into the compound like he owned the place.
Sanemi arrived home forty minutes later to find all five children arranged in a neat semicircle in the main hall. Akaza was seated before them like a lecturer, a series of objects laid out on a cloth between them: scrolls, folded papers, and what looked like an ancient wooden comb. Giyu sat to one side, arms crossed, expression deeply unimpressed.
"What's happening?" Sanemi asked, sliding into the doorway.
"Uncle Akaza is teaching us about Heian-era courtship traditions," Kaito said excitedly.
"Courtship traditions," Sanemi repeated.
"Heian-era," Haruki added.
"Wedding traditions, specifically," Akaza said.
Sanemi looked at Giyu. Giyu looked back with the expression of a man enduring something.
Sanemi sat down immediately. "Excellent," he said, and pulled out a scrap of paper and a piece of charcoal from his pocket. "I'm going to take notes."
Giyu stared at him. "What are you doing?"
"Taking notes."
"Why are you taking notes, Sanemi?"
"Because this is interesting. "Sanemi had already begun writing. "I didn't know there were formal traditions. This might be useful for
"For what?" Giyu asked; he seriously wanted to know what Sanemi was going to use this knowledge for.
“For future…you know when kids grow up," Sanemi explained. Giyu narrowed his eyes before he could say anything.
"In the Heian period", Akaza said loudly; he had clearly learnt that the best way to manage Giyu was to simply continue speaking over him. "A courtship began when an alpha left a poem outside the omega's sleeping chambers before dawn. This was the first formal step in what could be a lengthy process."
"A poem," Kaito repeated. "Like a real poem? With words that rhyme and stuff?"
"Yes. The quality of the poem indicated the alpha's intelligence and worth as a partner. A poorly written poem was considered an insult. A well-written poem could open doors."
Kaito turned to look at Sanemi. "Tochan, have you ever written a poem?"
"No," Sanemi said.
"Then how did you court Kaachan?"
"I carved him a wooden figurine with my own hands." Sanemi was still writing notes.
"You gave Kaachan a wooden figurine?" Akari asked.
"What's a figurine?" Kaito asked.
"You're an idiot," Haruki said to Kaito.
"Stop, it was a very beautiful figurine, and Giyu still has it," Sanemi explained. Giyu nodded from his place.
"I also cried a little," Sanemi admitted.
"Tochan…"
"I cried a lot," Sanemi said. "And then I proposed by accident."
"By accident?" Yuki asked. "How do you propose by accident?"
"That is still not the traditional method," Akaza observed.
"No," Sanemi agreed, still writing his notes. "But it worked."
"The morning after the first poem," Akaza continued, when Sanemi stayed silent, "the omega would reply with their own poem. If the reply poem was inferior to the first, it was considered a rejection. If it were superior, the alpha would know to continue the courtship."
"What if you can't write poems?" Ren asked.
This was, Giyu noted, the most words Ren had voluntarily spoken in three days.
"Then you hired someone to write them for you," Akaza said. "Professional poets were common in the court. They would compose verses on behalf of their patrons."
"That's cheating," Yuki said.
"It was common practice."
"It's still cheating. If you can't write a poem yourself, you shouldn't be courting anyone in the first place."
"The Heian court had different values," Akaza said patiently. He reached into the chest and produced a folded piece of aged paper, carefully preserved. "This is a reproduction of a famous courtship poem from the period. I have written it for you."
"It says, 'Like the morning mist over Mount Arashi, I linger at your gate and wait for the light that only you can bring.'"
The children were silent for a moment.
"That's beautiful," Akari said softly.
"Kaachan", Kaito said, turning around in his seat, "did anyone ever write you a poem like that when you were courting?"
Giyu opened his mouth. Closed it.
"Tochan proposed in bed," Haruki said, without looking up from the paper he was now reading over Sanemi's shoulder. "We know this story, and Tochan, what are you trying to write?"
"I didn't propose in bed," Sanemi said. "I proposed after being in bed. There is a difference. Haru, stop reading over my shoulder."
When Haruki didn't, Sanemi pulled him into his lap, where he settled quite happily. Sanemi shook his head and kissed the top of his head.
"The difference is minimal," Obanai said from the doorway, where he had apparently arrived sometime in the last five minutes without anyone noticing.
"When did you get here?" Sanemi asked.
"Long enough to hear your justification." Obanai sat down beside Giyu and looked at Akaza. "Continue."
By the end of the hour, Sanemi had three pages of notes, Haruki had begun composing a practice poem that he refused to show anyone, Kaito had decided he was going to court someone using exclusively traditional Heian methods when he grew up, Yuki was deeply sceptical of the entire institution of arranged courtship, Ren had asked four surprisingly incisive questions about property rights, and Akari had learned to write two Heian-era characters in the style Akaza demonstrated.
Akaza packed up his chest with visible satisfaction.
"Same time next week?" he asked.
"No," Giyu said.
"Yes," said all five children.
Giyu looked at Sanemi for support.
Sanemi was still writing notes.
"Sanemi."
"Hmm?"
"Tell him no."
Sanemi looked up. Looked at the children. Looked at Akaza. Looked at his notes.
"Same time next week," he said.
Giyu stood up and left the room.
That night, long after the children were asleep and the estate had gone quiet, Giyu found a folded piece of paper in his wardrobe. He picked it up. Inside, in Sanemi's handwriting, large and slightly uneven and entirely sincere, was a poem:
Like the idiot who didn't know he was in love until he was already gone,
I lingered at your gate for too long.
You let me in anyway.
That's the part I'll never understand.
Giyu stood in the corridor for a long time, holding the paper. His heart melted. Even after all these years, Sanemi could make his heart race with these idiotic little things that made him feel loved. He clutched the piece of paper to his heart, smiling, and went in search of the alpha so that he could kiss him senseless.
And in the morning, there was a folded piece of paper on Sanemi's side of the futon.
It said, 'You're still an idiot.'
And beneath that, in smaller writing: But you're mine.
And if in the next lesson Obanai too sat with a notebook, Giyu pretended not to notice.
The first thing Giyu registered was warmth. It was a familiar warmth now, one he had woken up to for years, and yet it still made his chest ache with gratitude and love every single time.
He opened his eyes slowly, letting the light adjust. Obanai was facing him, his dark lashes casting shadows on his pale cheeks, his scarred face peaceful in sleep. His hand rested on Giyu's hip, fingers curled loosely, as if even in sleep he refused to let go. Giyu's eyes traced the familiar lines of his face and felt a rush of love for the man.
Behind him, Sanemi's arm was thrown over Giyu's waist, his face pressed into the back of Giyu's neck. His breath was warm against Giyu's skin, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Even in sleep, he was possessive, his grip firm even as he dreamed.
Giyu lay still, not wanting to disturb them. He let himself exist in this moment, suspended between the two men he loved, surrounded by their warmth and their presence and the quiet miracle of their shared life.
A small sound from the doorway made him turn his head. Haruki stood there, his dark hair mussed from sleep, his mismatched eyes fixed on Giyu's face with that quiet intensity he had inherited from both his fathers. He was holding his blanket while rubbing his eyes sleepily. Haruki crawled into their futon when Giyu beckoned him, snuggling into Giyu's chest. Obanai grunted in his sleep but did not wake.
Giyu nuzzled his boy's head, kissing his head. Haruki smiled, trying to go back to sleep, but then he slowly opened his eyes.
"Kaachan, they are making breakfast today, so you all can rest," he murmured sleepily, and Giyu woke up completely.
"Yuki, Akari and Kaito?"
"Yes, Kaachan."
"Where's Ren?"
"He is still sleeping."
It was then he heard Yuki's faint voice, sharp with excitement: "I want to break the eggs!"
"You're the eldest; you wash the rice, and last time you dropped an egg," Akari pointed out.
"That was because you distracted me!"
"I did not distract you. You just can't cook."
"I can cook too!"
"You can't even boil water."
Giyu pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. He could feel Sanemi stirring behind him, drawn from sleep by the noise despite his best efforts. Obanai's eyes fluttered open, the mismatched irises focusing slowly on Giyu's face and then looking at Haruki in between them.
"Morning," Obanai murmured, his voice rough with sleep, pulling Haruki into his arms.
"When did you get in here, hmm?" Obanai asked as he smothered him.
"Otosan, I am sleepy," Haruki protested.
"It's morning, baby," Obanai countered.
"Good morning." Giyu leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead over Haruki. "The children are trying to make breakfast."
"They're going to burn down the kitchen."
"Probably."
"It's nice to see the trust you both have in us," Haruki chimed in from between them. It deserved a pinch on his cheek from Giyu.
"All your children have your sarcasm, Giyu," Obanai declared, and he too in turn received a pinch on his cheek.
Sanemi grumbled something unintelligible into Giyu's neck, his arm tightening around Giyu's waist. Obanai reached over and shoved him gently.
"Wake up, Sanemi. Your children are cooking."
"They're your children too," Sanemi mumbled, not moving. "You go deal with them."
Haruki giggled, and that prompted Sanemi to open one eye and look at Haruki blearily.
"Oh no, we have an angel in between us…kami sent us an angel…" Sanemi exclaimed, ever the dramatic one. Haruki laughed as Obanai tightened his hands around him.
"Come here, give Tochan a kiss," Sanemi said, and Haruki struggled out of Obanai's grasp, climbed over Giyu, and lay on top of Sanemi, giving him a wet kiss.
Giyu looked at them, his heart full, until they heard a crash from the kitchen, and Obanai sat up in alarm.
Giyu snorted.
"Let's go before they burn down the kitchen."
The kitchen was a disaster when they arrived. Yuki had somehow managed to crack eggs into the cold frying pan without actually breaking them, leaving bits of shell floating in the mixture. Akari was scolding her, saying that she didn't have to crack the eggs in the frying pan as there was no need to cook them, while she spilt rice all over the floor. Kaito was standing on a stool, waving a spatula like a sword, shouting about how he would protect the eggs from the "egg demons".
Sanemi took one look at the chaos and said, very quietly, "I love my children, and I am going to kill them."
"Don't be dramatic." Giyu rolled up his sleeves and waded into the fray. "Yuki, stop trying to fish the shell out with your fingers. Akari, put the rice down. Kaito, you are not fighting egg demons."
“Sanemi, go get the broom. We're going to need it."
"Who broke something?"
"No one broke anything…yet." Haruki watched this all from the doorway, still clutching his blanket.
Obanai was already next to Yuki, calmly salvaging what he could of the eggs. He had taken charge of the rice, too, his hands moving with practised precision as he measured out the grains and set the pot to boil. Giyu watched him work, the way his hands moved with practised precision, the way he didn't even flinch when Kaito accidentally knocked a bowl off the counter. He just reached down, caught it without looking, and set it back in place.
"Show-off," Sanemi muttered, but there was no real heat in it.
Obanai's lips curved in a faint smile. "I learned from the best."
"Giyu?"
"I was going to say you, but sure, Giyu."
Giyu laughed, the sound bright and free, and for a moment, the chaos of the kitchen faded into background noise. He looked at his family, his husbands, his children, and this beautiful, messy life they had built together and felt his heart swell with love.
"What are we making?" Yuki asked, peering into the pot Obanai was stirring.
"Tamago kake gohan," Obanai said. "It's quick and easy, and you can't burn it."
"I can't burn rice?"
"You can burn rice," Sanemi said, "but only if you try really, really hard. And you're not going to try hard, are you?"
Yuki shook her head solemnly. "No, Tochan."
"Good. Now, who wants to crack the eggs?"
"I do!" Akari shouted.
"Me too!" Kaito added, waving his spatula.
"Absolutely not," Giyu said, taking the spatula from Kaito's hands. "You can help by setting the table, you and Haruki."
Both the boys groaned in protest, but they did as they were told. Haruki gathered the bowls. Akari carried the chopsticks. Yuki and Kaito argued about who would get to sit closest to Obanai. Ren toddled from his room, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, his small hands reaching for Giyu. Giyu picked him up, and Ren went right back to sleep on Giyu's shoulder.
Giyu watched them go, then turned to his husbands. Obanai was adding a splash of soy sauce to the rice, his movements calm and unhurried. Sanemi was picking bits of eggshell out of the bowl.
"Two minutes," Obanai said, catching Giyu's eye. "Then we eat."
"I love you," Giyu said.
Obanai paused, his hands stilling over the pot, and beamed at him. "I love you too."
The Water Estate was a cacophony of noise and chaos. That was the thought running through Sanemi's head as he stood in the doorway of the main hall, watching the chaos unfold before him. Tengen's brood had descended upon them like a swarm of particularly loud locusts, and between his five and Tengen's ten, the house had become a cacophony of shrieks, laughter, and the thunder of small feet.
"HAYATE, GIVE THAT BACK!"
"IT'S MINE; YOU STOLE IT!"
"I DID NOT STEAL IT; I FOUND IT!"
"FINDERS KEEPERS IS NOT A REAL RULE!"
Sanemi pinched the bridge of his nose. Obanai appeared beside him, Giyu right at his heels. Giyu's expression was carefully neutral in a way that Sanemi had learned meant he was one scream away from losing his mind.
"How many of them are here?" Sanemi asked.
"Twelve," Obanai said flatly. "Thirteen if you count the one who just crawled under the engawa, I don't know where the other two are."
"Which two?"
"I don't know. They all look the same at this speed."
Sanemi sighed and stepped into the fray. He was good at this: breaking up fights, redirecting chaos, and using his loud voice to impose order on the madness. He had learned it through years of raising five children, and he had perfected it through sheer necessity.
"EVERYONE CALM DOWN!" he bellowed.
The children froze mid-chaos. For a beautiful moment, there was silence.
Then Kaito, his white hair sticking up in all directions, pointed at one of Tengen's sons and shouted, "HE STARTED IT!"
"HE TOOK MY TOY!"
"IT'S MY TOY!"
"IT'S MY TOY NOW!"
The chaos resumed.
Sanemi groaned. Obanai stepped forward, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "If I hear one more scream, everyone is sitting in the corner for an hour."
The children paused again. They had learned, over the years, that Obanai's threats were not empty. He did not yell. He did not make idle promises. He simply stated the consequence, and then he delivered it.
"Now", Obanai said, his voice calm, "separate into groups and"
He stopped. His mismatched eyes had found something in the corner of the room. Sanemi followed his gaze and felt his heart drop.
Ren.
He was sitting against the wall, his small knees drawn up to his chest, his hands clamped over his ears. His face was pale, his eyes wide, and there were tears streaming silently down his cheeks. Sanemi opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Giyu moved from behind him.
"I'll take Ren out," Giyu whispered as he passed them by.
Giyu crossed the room in three silent steps. He knelt in front of Ren. Ren looked up. His blue eyes were bright with tears. His lower lip trembled.
Giyu opened his arms. Ren fell into them, his small body pressing against Giyu's chest, his hands still clamped over his ears. Giyu lifted him, cradling him against his shoulder, and stood.
He didn't say a word. He just walked out of the room, carrying his youngest, leaving the chaos behind.
Giyu carried Ren through the secret entrance, pushing aside the branches, stepping into the hidden clearing beyond.
The cherry blossoms were in full bloom.
They carpeted the ground in soft pink and white, a thick blanket of petals that muffled every sound. The trees stretched overhead, their branches heavy with flowers, their petals drifting down in a slow, silent rain. The stream at the edge of the clearing murmured softly, its water clear and cold, reflecting the blue sky above.
Giyu sat down against the trunk of the oldest cherry blossom tree and settled Ren in his lap. He didn't try to talk. He didn't try to soothe him. He just held him, letting the silence and the beauty of the place do their work, running his fingers through Ren’s hair, his blunt fingers scrapping against his scalp.
Slowly, the tension in Ren's small body began to ease. His hands, still clamped over his ears, loosened. His breathing steadied. The silent tears slowed, then stopped.
When he finally spoke, his voice was small, barely a whisper.
"Kacahan?"
"Yes, Ren?"
"Why is everyone always so loud?"
Giyu smiled. He was sometimes still surprised at how similar Ren was to himself.
"They don't mean to be, I guess."
Ren was quiet for a moment. Then: "But I like the silence. Why can't they be like me? Why are they so different?"
"I don't know, love, but you are just like me."
Ren looked up at him with his wide blue eyes.
"Really?"
"Yes."
Giyu pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Because I was the same way when I was your age. I still am."
Ren considered this. Then, slowly, he leaned his head against Giyu's chest.
"Kaachan, will they stop loving me because I am quiet?" And Giyu's heart ached at the question. He tightened his arms around Ren.
"No, sweetheart, they won't. They all love you very much."
Ren was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly: "Even if I'm not like everyone else?"
"Yes." Giyu tilted Ren's face up, meeting his eyes. "Do you know what I see when I look at you?"
Ren shook his head.
"I see myself," Giyu said. "I see a boy who is quiet and thoughtful and sometimes overwhelmed by the world. I see a boy who feels things deeply, even when he doesn't show it. I see a boy who is going to grow into a man who is kind and gentle and strong in ways that no one expects." He paused, his thumb brushing away a lingering tear. "And I see a boy who is loved, so much, by all of us."
Ren's eyes glistened. "Really?"
"Really." Giyu hugged him close. "And you know what? When I was your age, I used to hide in places like this. I used to find quiet spots where no one could find me. And my sister, your aunt, used to come find me when it was night, but she never stopped loving me."
"She did?"
"She did."
"Can you tell me about her?"
"Yes, my baby."
Giyu lay back on the soft grass, Ren cradled against Giyu's chest, the soft petals drifting down around them like snow. The sky above was a perfect, endless blue. The stream murmured its quiet song. And for the first time in hours, Ren felt like he could breathe. Giyu told him about Tsutako, about his childhood, and all the good things that he could remember.
By the time Giyu came back, the main hall was quiet. The other children had gone home, and the chaos had been replaced by a warm, settled calm. Sanemi and Obanai were waiting, their faces etched with worry.
"Is he okay?" Sanemi asked, his voice low.
"He's fine. He just needed some quiet." Giyu nodded, gesturing to a sleeping Ren in his arms.
"Let him sleep with us tonight," Obanai suggested. Giyu and Sanemi nodded. The youngest and the only omega of the family, Ren was obviously overprotected, and Giyu pitied the alpha who would come asking for his hand in marriage when he grew up.
The afternoon sun hung low over the village, casting long shadows across the dusty road. Sanemi walked with a lightness in his step that had become more frequent over the years. The schoolhouse came into view, a modest building surrounded by a yard where children played. Sanemi could hear their shouts and laughter from a distance, and he smiled despite himself. His children were in there. His children were learning and growing and living the kind of peaceful life he had never dared to imagine for himself.
He rounded the corner, and the smile died on his face as his heart lurched when he saw Yuki's and Akari's dark locks sticking up in all directions. They were standing together, their backs to the wall, their faces streaked with dirt and tears, holding each other's hands.
Facing them were two other children, larger and older. Their father, Sanemi assumed, hovered behind them with an expression of righteous indignation. And in the centre of it all stood the teacher, a nervous young woman wringing her hands, clearly out of her depth.
Sanemi was moving before he could think, his feet carrying him across the yard at a pace that made the other parent step back instinctively. He didn't care. His girls were crying. His girls were hurt.
"Yuki!" he called out, his voice sharp with worry. "Akari!"
The twins' heads snapped toward him. Their faces crumpled with relief. And then they were running, crashing into him with enough force to knock him back a step.
"Tochan!" Yuki sobbed into his chest. "Tochan, they said Otōsan is..."
"Monster", Akari finished, her voice trembling with a fury. "They said Otōsan is a monster because of his face. They said we must be monsters too."
Sanemi's blood turned to ice.
"What else did they say?" His voice was low and controlled, the kind of quiet that preceded a storm.
Yuki sniffled, rubbing her face with a dirty sleeve. "They said he should have died because no one wants to look at a monster. They said we should be ashamed."
Sanemi's hands tightened on his children's shoulders. "You're okay. You're all okay. I'm here now."
He looked up, his eyes at the alpha. The man met his eyes, arrogant, unrepentant, certain of his own righteousness. He stepped forward, his chest puffed out, his expression smug.
"Shinazugawa-san," he said, his voice dripping with false courtesy. "I apologise for the commotion. Children will be children, you know. They say the most foolish things."
Sanemi's fingers curled into fists. "Your children called my husband a monster."
The man's smile didn't waver. "Children repeat what they hear and see. It's only natural. And honestly, Shinazugawa-san, you must admit the scars are rather... unsettling. Perhaps if your husband covered his face, the children wouldn't be so frightened."
"He's not frightening," Sanemi snarled. "He's beautiful. And if your children are repeating what they hear, then I have to wonder what kind of parents would say such things in front of their children."
The man's smile finally slipped. The teacher stepped forward, her face pinched with anger.
"How dare you speak to me that way! I am only looking out for my children's wellbeing. Your husband's appearance is disturbing. It's not right for children to have to look at someone so...so disfigured."
"Dis…" Sanemi couldn't find the words. His hands were shaking. His vision was tunnelling. All he could see was Obanai's face, the scars he had been so ashamed of, the ones he had hidden for years, the ones he had finally, finally learned to show with pride. And now these people…this horrible, small-minded man…was trying to take that away from him.
"You're going to apologise," Sanemi said, his voice deadly quiet.
The man laughed. "I don't think I will. In fact, I think it's your children who should be apologising. They started this, you know. They were defending that that creature and..."
Sanemi moved.
He didn't think about it. He didn't plan it. His body simply acted, years of training and instinct taking over. He grabbed the man by the collar and shoved him against the schoolhouse wall, his arm pressing against his throat, his face inches from his.
"Say that again," Sanemi hissed. "I dare you."
The teacher rushed forward, her hands fluttering uselessly, trying to intervene. But Sanemi didn't see or hear her. All he saw was red.
And behind him, Yuki and Akari got into a fight with the children. It all stopped when Sanemi threw the man on the ground and held him there without any effort. Sanemi looked up when he heard the boy Akari was sitting on scream, ordering him to apologise, while Yuki was pulling the girl's hair who was crying and yelling.
Sanemi's grip loosened. He felt a frisson of pride for his small girls who had overpowered older kids. The man sat up, gasping, his face pale with terror. Sanemi stepped back, his chest heaving, his hands trembling.
"Stay away from my children," he said, his voice ragged. "Make your children behave, or my girls will show them the hard way of how to treat people with kindness. If I ever hear any of you say another word about my husband, I will come back. And I will not be so merciful."
He turned and walked away, his girls trailing behind him haughtily. Behind him, he heard the father sputtering, the teacher's frantic apologies, and the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears.
The walk home was silent. Sanemi's hands were still shaking. His children walked beside him, their footsteps dragging, their faces still streaked with dirt and tears.
"Tochan?" Akari's voice was small, hesitant, pulling him from his thoughts. "Are we going to be in trouble?"
Sanemi looked down at her. At the dirt on her face, the tear tracks on her cheeks, and the fear in her eyes.
"No," he said. "You're not in trouble. You did the right thing, defending your father."
"Otōsan isn't a monster," Yuki said fiercely. "He's not. I don't care what they say."
"He's not," Sanemi agreed. "He's the bravest, strongest, most beautiful person I know. And anyone who says otherwise is wrong."
The children nodded, their shoulders relaxing slightly. But Sanemi's own shoulders remained tense. He looked down at their clothes, torn and covered in dust, and their kimonos torn at the shoulder. Their hands were scraped; their hair pulled from their braids.
Giyu was going to kill him.
The Water Estate came into view, and Sanemi's stomach twisted. He could see Giyu sitting on the engawa, a cup of tea resting on his swollen stomach, his face serene, his hand running over his baby bump. He thanked every Kami that Obanai wasn't here… Sanemi was sure he was calming Kaito down.
Giyu looked up as they approached, and his expression shifted. The serenity vanished, replaced by a sharp, focused concern. He struggled to rise to his feet, his eyes sweeping over his children, over Sanemi.
As soon as the girls saw him, they started crying again and ran to him. Giyu pulled them close, looking at Sanemi in worry.
"What happened?"
Sanemi opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was still shaking, still angry, still terrified that he had made things worse somehow. That his temper had put his family in danger. That Giyu would be disappointed in him.
"T-Tochan got in a fight!" Yuki hiccupped.
"We also got in a fight," Akari confessed, tears still streaming down her face.
"Are you two hurt?" Giyu's voice was quiet. He was shown badly scratched knees, elbows and palms.
"Oh, my sweethearts," Giyu exclaimed.
"Come, let's get you cleaned up and changed."
The twins stopped crying as Giyu cleaned their knees and elbows. He washed their faces and changed their clothes. And while he did that, Yuki and Akari told him what happened hesitantly. Giyu’s anger rose, but he kept it in control; he didn’t want to scare his girls.
"Kaachan, are you going to scold us?" Yuki asked.
"Are you angry with us because we fought?" Akari asked. Their eyes were wide and pleading, and Giyu's heart went out to them. He pulled them to his chest and squeezed them.
"No, sweethearts, I am not. You did not start a fight; you defended your father."
Giyu kissed their foreheads.
"I love you two so much."
"Now come, I made your favourite ohagi and manju."
"You did?"
"Thank you, Kaachan. I love you too."
They gave him a kiss and ran to the table where Giyu had already set two plates out before they had come.
It was then he turned to look at Sanemi, who had followed him quietly. Giyu stepped closer and reached up to cup Sanemi's face, his thumb brushing over the dirt on his cheek. His touch was gentle and searching, as if he were checking for injuries.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" Giyu asked gently. Sanemi shook his head, and Giyu pulled him into his arms.
"You did good, Sanemi." A tremor wracked his wide frame as he clung to Giyu.
The school was quiet when Giyu arrived the next day. The teacher had already gone inside, clearly informed of his visit. The other father was there, his face tight with fear and lingering resentment.
Giyu didn't look at him. His steps were measured, his expression calm, as he stopped in the centre of the classroom. The children were there too, huddled together, their eyes wide and their faces pale with dread.
Giyu let the silence stretch as he stared at the man who had dared to call Obanai a monster.
"Yesterday," he said, his voice soft and cold as winter rain, "my children were called monsters. Your children called my husband a monster. And you allowed not only did you not stop it you tried to justify it. What kind of a man raises his children to be bullies. " He paused, letting the words sink in. "I want you to think about what that means. About the kind of people you are raising. About the kind of world you are creating for them."
The man opened his mouth, but Giyu raised a hand.
"My husband is the bravest man I know. He survived things you can't even imagine. He fought for this country, for your safety, for your children's future. And the worst thing he ever had to face wasn't a demon; it was the hatred of people who judged him for his scars."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"You shouldn't have called him a monster when you are standing here alive because of him today, Tsukishima-san. The night that demon was slain by the man you called a monster, and you taught your children the same thing. Shame! Is this how you treat your saviour? Maybe my husband shouldn't have saved you…Do not worry if you still feel mt husband is monster then we will show you what a monster truly is. It is something that can still be rectified if you do not correct your ways." Giyu finished, and the entire time he hadn't raised his voice even a decibel.
The man stepped forward, his face pale, his eyes downcast.
"I... I'm sorry," he said. "I was wrong. I didn't... I didn't know. I'm sorry."
Giyu studied him for a long moment, then he nodded. He turned and walked away, leaving the classroom, leaving the man and his children, leaving the silence behind.
When Obanai came to know of the whole ordeal, he merely shrugged it away, surprising both Giyu and Sanemi.
"When you both have shown me how attractive you both find me, I don't care what outsiders think. I might have been affected at one point in time, but now it doesn't matter to me."
But the girls had different plans, and as soon as Obanai stepped out of their room, they descended on him like a swarm of enthusiastic locusts, wrapping their arms around him, pressing their small faces into his sides.
"Otōsan," Yuki said, "you're not a monster. You're the best father in the world."
"The best," Akari agreed.
And Kaito simply patted Obanai's face with his small, sticky hand and said,
"Pwetty."
Obanai laughed, his face lighting up with joy and love, and that night Giyu and Sanemi showed Obanai how much they loved him. They clung to him on either side as he fell asleep in their cocoon of love and care.