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Here is how his life is as the newly minted husband of the Butterfly Mansion’s head physician, Kocho Shinobu.
Long before the first sliver of morning sun managed to peek over, he opened his eyes. Slipping out from beneath the heavy winter quilts while trying not to make a single wooden floorboard groan, he turned back to inspect the messy battlefield that was Shinobu’s sleeping form.
Though the outside world knew the Insect Hashira as the symbol of elegance, her posture when sleeping was not that different from a disheveled starfish tossed across the tatami mat. One pale foot dangled off the edge of the mattress, and her arms were flung sideways in a weird tangle of sheets and twisted purple nightwear.
With all the patience in the world, Giyuu crouched down to gather her wandering limbs back into the center of the bed. He smoothed the displaced quilt over her shoulders, then brushed a few stubborn bangs away from her parted lips; he received only a soft, contented mumble in return. Satisfied that his wife was properly tucked in, he retrieved his boxwood comb, which he used to smooth out his own unruly raven hair and secure it into his familiar low ponytail.
Living in an estate inhabited almost entirely by young women meant that hot water was the single most fiercely fought-for thing on the mountain. If Aoi Kanzaki and the three little apprentices woke up before he finished, the wood-fired cistern would be drained down to freezing dregs within a matter of minutes. So Giyuu reached the washhouse and claimed his ration of steaming water with barely moments to spare. He washed his face thoroughly to get rid of the remaining haze of sleep and tied his dark hakama in place.
He finished before the estate's waking bell could even chime.
After wolfing down a simple breakfast of rice, miso soup, and pickled radish at the kitchen counter, Giyu headed straight into the estate’s central clinic. Today was scheduled to be a demanding intake day for injured ex-Corps members, meaning Shinobu would need every single piece of medical equipment in perfect working order. He rolled his sleeves past his elbows, wiped down every wooden surface, and dressed the treatment beds in freshly pressed cotton linens.
Shelf by shelf, glass tincture bottles were rotated and restocked, and all the silver forceps, surgical needles, and splints were laid out in clean, neat rows atop the lacquered rolling carts. He even inspected the ceramic mortars and weighed out the raw dried herbs, making sure that her poultices could be mixed on the spot and that she did not lose a single second to clutter.
By the time Shinobu walked into the examination ward, the entire clinic was already operating in harmony. Throughout the long morning rush, Giyu worked patiently at her side: lifting burly convalescing swordsmen, holding dressings in place, jotting down patient symptoms. Even long after his marriage to Shinobu, the recovering slayers could still hardly comprehend why on earth the once-unapproachable Water Hashira was now tending to their bandages with such a gentle manner. Even Aoi stopped occasionally in the doorway with an armful of clean towels, gawking at how spotless the dispensary was.
When Shinobu tilted her head up toward him to offer a playful, radiant smile, with a soft murmur of “Thank you” to her wonderful husband, a warmth of pride burst within Giyu’s chest. He couldn’t wait to repeat the exact same routine the next day.