Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The thrill of a successful mission was, in Iguro Obanai's opinion, one of life’s rare satisfactions. He and Shinazugawa Sanemi had been paired to eliminate a lower-rank demon...an arrangement that had become increasingly common among the Hashira since Rengoku’s confronation with the Upper Moon three a week back, Rengoku was gravely injured but alive. Oyakata-sama, cautious after such a harrowing event, preferred that no Hashira ventured alone anymore.

It wasn’t a bad partnership. Both alphas shared a sharp, disciplined efficiency on the battlefield and an unspoken understanding born of mutual respect. Sanemi’s brash confidence balanced Obanai’s quiet precision, and while their temperaments could not be more different, they moved in sync when blades met flesh. During the fight, Sanemi’s wild grin had matched the gleam of his sword, while Obanai’s strikes were silent and deliberate...two storms working in harmony.

Now, as they neared the Ubuyashiki Estate to deliver their report, Obanai allowed himself a rare moment of ease. The air was cool, heavy with the scent of pine and blood long since dried. Their Kasugai crow had already gone ahead with the news of the demon’s demise. For Obanai, there was a quiet satisfaction in cleansing another piece of filth from the world...it made him feel, however faintly, as if he were paying penance for the sins that haunted his past.

Beside him, Sanemi huffed a laugh, muttering something about the demon’s pitiful resistance, and Obanai's mouth curved faintly behind his bandages. Perhaps he’d never admit it aloud, but there were worse people to share a victory with.

The pleasant quiet of victory shattered in an instant. A sudden, sickening stench hit them...a foul putrid scent lay heavy in the air of muddy water mixed with decomposing body…definitely an omega in distress. Both alphas halted mid-step. The foul, putrid air clung to their senses, sharp and suffocating.

“Something’s wrong,” Sanemi muttered, nostrils flaring.

Obanai's nose wrinkled in disgust, but his body moved before his mind caught up, instinct propelling him toward the source of the scent. He met Sanemi’s sharp gaze, and that brief exchange was all they needed. Without a word, both men drew their Nichirin blades, the steel whispering in eerie unison.

They rounded the bend...
...and Obanai froze. His breath caught, the world narrowing to the figure stumbling toward them. Sanemi’s low grunt of confusion quickly died as he too came to an abrupt halt.

There, drenched in blood and barely standing, was Tomioka Giyu.

The Water Hashira’s steps were unsteady, his body swaying as if on the brink of collapse. Blood soaked through his grey yukata, and his mismatched haori was torn and darkened with gore. His hands...trembling, slick with red...clutched something tight against his chest. He looked utterly wrecked, and yet… still walking.

Obanai's mind blanked. For a second, he couldn’t even process what he was seeing. The sharp tang in the air made sense now...Tomioka’s scent, unmistakably omega, laced with pain and fear. He had never known. The realization hit him like a blade to the gut. His gaze flicked toward Sanemi, who wore the same look of shock, though his body was already moving.

Before Obanai could react, Sanemi reached the other Hashira just as Tomioka faltered again, catching him before he could hit the ground.

Obanai forced himself forward, every instinct screaming to protect, to comfort, to do something. The omega’s distress rolled off him in waves so raw it made the air heavy.

“I–I k-kill… k-kill…” Tomioka’s voice was a broken whisper. His whole frame shook, breath hitching as he tried to speak again. His blue eyes, usually so calm and detached, were wide with terror...panic so pure that it silenced every question rising in Obanai’s throat. All he wanted, absurdly, was to reach out, to ground him.

“Killed?” Sanemi’s voice came out rough but gentler than usual...cautious, stripped of its usual bite. Whatever their opinions of the Water Pillar, those didn’t matter now.

“I–I… m-my… I k-killed…” Tomioka stammered, a ragged sob tearing from his throat before he clamped a shaking hand over his mouth as if terrified of his own voice. He shook his head violently, eyes squeezing shut. Then, with effort, he lifted one trembling hand and pointed down the road...toward his estate.

Both alphas followed his gesture, unease knotting in their chests. Whatever waited there had driven the stoic Water Hashira to this breaking point...and that thought alone chilled Obanai more than any demon ever could…more than he thought that something related to Tomioka could.

Sanemi looked over at Obanai, confusion and silent urgency flickering in his eyes. His arms were full...Tomioka was trembling violently against him, small, cold gasps leaving his lips as if even breathing hurt. For once, Sanemi looked unsure, waiting for a word, a sign...something...from the Serpent Pillar.

But Obanai… didn’t know what to do. His throat felt tight, strangled by the sound of Tomioka’s uneven breathing and the overwhelming scent of blood that clung to the air like a curse. He couldn’t bear to look at the omega’s face any longer...the pure terror in those blue eyes, wide and glassy with shock, was too much. He lowered his gaze, and that’s when he saw it...

A spreading pool of blood at Tomioka’s feet.

“Sanemi,” Obanai said sharply, his voice suddenly taut with alarm as he pointed down.

Sanemi followed his line of sight...and the colour drained from his face. The blood wasn’t just dried; it was fresh, seeping steadily, staining the ground beneath Tomioka’s legs.

“Shit...he’s bleeding out,” Sanemi muttered, panic threading through his tone. He shifted his grip instinctively, trying to locate the wound. “We need to get him to the Butterfly Estate...”

“NO!” Tomioka’s voice cracked like glass. The raw desperation in it froze them both. His entire body seized, eyes going wide with fear as he started to shake his head violently. “N-no… Amane-san… p-please… A-Amane-san…”

His breathing hitched, fast and shallow...on the edge of a full panic. Tears mixed with the grime and blood on his cheeks, his words tumbling out in gasps that barely formed coherent sound.

“Okay, okay,” Sanemi murmured, tone shifting immediately, uncharacteristically gentle. “We’ll go to Amane-san. I’ve got you, Tomioka.”

Without waiting another moment, Sanemi tightened his hold, lifting Tomioka fully into his arms. The omega’s blood soaked through his haori, but he didn’t care. With quick, purposeful strides, Sanemi turned and headed toward the Ubuyashiki Estate, the sound of Tomioka’s ragged breathing echoing faintly in the air behind him.

Obanai stood frozen for a heartbeat longer, the sudden stillness pressing heavily around him. He stared at the crimson-streaked ground, the metallic scent still sharp in his lungs. A part of him wanted to follow...wanted to be near that fragile, broken presence that had just been carried away...but another, colder instinct urged him elsewhere.

He exhaled shakily, sheathing his sword.

“I’ll… go check out the Water Estate then,” he murmured, to no one in particular. But in truth, it wasn’t duty alone that pushed him forward. It was dread...deep, gnawing dread about what he would find there, and what could possibly have driven the ever-composed Tomioka Giyu into this kind of terror.

And so Obanai turned toward the direction Tomioka had pointed, the faint sound of retreating footsteps fading behind him, leaving him alone with the smell of blood and the echo of a nightmare that had only just begun.

The path to the Water Estate was eerily silent. The further Obanai walked, the thicker the smell of blood and damp earth became, coating his throat until breathing felt like swallowing metal. The night wind rustled the trees around him, but even the insects were quiet, as if the land itself was holding its breath.

When the blue-tiled roofs of the Water Estate finally came into view, Obanai's steps slowed. The place, usually immaculate and calm, looked like a battlefield. The gate hung crooked on one hinge, one door completely torn from its post and lying in the dirt. The gravel path leading up to the engawa was scattered with shards of broken pottery, the faint trail of smeared footprints...some large, some smaller...marked in blood.

He crossed the threshold silently, his eyes scanning every inch. The main corridor was a wreck. Tatami mats were torn and dark with blood, sliding doors half open or hanging off their tracks. A broken lantern lay in one corner, still smoking faintly, the smell of burnt oil thick in the air. Something heavy had been overturned...perhaps a low table...and papers fluttered in the faint breeze like the aftermath of a storm.

There were drag marks on the floor. Long, uneven streaks of red leading out toward the courtyard.

Obanai followed them, his grip tightening on his sword. His pulse thrummed steadily, not in fear but in a grim, sinking awareness that whatever he was about to see would explain Tomioka’s horror...and make it far worse.

He stepped out into the courtyard. The moon hung high and cold, silver light spilling across the empty space. The koi pond, once pristine, was murky with silt, and several of the wooden planks from the walkway were splintered as if someone had crashed into them. And there, lying near the base of a small maple tree, was a body.

A man....an alpha...

Obanai approached slowly. The corpse was sprawled awkwardly on its side; head twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood had pooled beneath it, black in the moonlight, seeping from a deep wound on the skull. The man’s hands were a mangled mess...knuckles split and smeared with blood, skin torn and raw. It looked as though he’d been striking something...or someone...again and again until the bones gave way.

His clothing was rough, civilian, though the pattern was unfamiliar. No sword, no insignia. Just a stranger, dead where he’d fallen.

Obanai crouched beside the body, his sharp eyes scanning for details. The man’s expression was frozen in something between rage and disbelief, mouth half-open as if his last breath had been stolen mid-curse. There were no defensive wounds beyond the broken hands. He had died of one blow, precise and fatal, Obanai curled his hands into fists and breathes sharply.

Obanai's gaze drifted upward, to the faint spray of blood that streaked the wooden post nearby. The impact point was clear. The back of the man’s skull had struck the pillar hard enough to splatter. The scene painted a chilling story in silence...violence, panic, a fight that had ended brutally fast.

His eyes lingered on the prints in the dirt...bare feet, lighter and smaller than the man’s...running toward the main gate, smudged in blood.

Tomioka’s.

Obanai’s chest tightened, a cold ache crawling up his spine. The pieces clicked together with dreadful clarity: the trembling hands, the blood, the broken voice whispering “I killed…”

The Serpent Pillar rose slowly, the wind tugging at his haori. His stomach turned, but his face stayed impassive. There was no demon here...no scent of rot, no corrupted aura. Just death...human death.

Obanai sheathed his sword, his jaw set hard. The estate was silent again, save for the faint rustle of leaves over the corpse.

“…What did you do, Tomioka,” he murmured, voice low and unreadable, though the weight in it carried both pity and dread.

The wind carried his words into the darkness, where no one answered.

Chapter Text

Sanemi’s boots struck the stone path in quick, heavy strides, each step echoing the frantic rhythm of the heartbeat pressed against his chest. Tomioka’s breathing was shallow and erratic, each gasp a painful, uneven sound that grated on Sanemi’s nerves more than he wanted to admit. The omega’s body trembled uncontrollably in his arms...cold, too cold...and though Sanemi’s haori was already drenched in blood, he only tightened his grip, as if by sheer will, he could keep the life from leaking out of him.

The Ubuyashiki Estate came into view through the trees, bathed in soft lamplight. For once, Sanemi didn’t bark for the guards to open the gate; his voice was gone, trapped behind a lump of fear that felt foreign to him. He simply kicked the door open with his foot and strode through, ignoring the startled gasps from the attendants.

“Amane-san!” His voice finally tore out, hoarse and urgent. “Where’s Amane-san?!”

The lady of the house appeared almost instantly, gliding into view with her usual calm, though the sight that met her eyes stripped that composure away in a heartbeat. Her lips parted softly, a flicker of shock...then worry...and then to Sanemi’s shock understanding and pain crossed her serene face as she took in the blood, the shaking, the haunting blue eyes barely open.

“Giyu…” she breathed, her voice hushed yet laden with dread.

Without a single question, for which Sanemi was very thankful, she turned on her heel.

“This way.”

Sanemi followed, quick and silent now, his jaw clenched as he trailed after her through the polished halls. The faint fragrance of incense and tatami clashed violently with the stench of blood. Each step left a dark smear on the floor, and every creak of the boards seemed unbearably loud.

Amane-san slid open the door to a small chamber lit by gentle candlelight. She motioned toward the futon laid neatly in the corner. “Here, lay him down.”

Sanemi knelt carefully, lowering Tomioka onto the mattress. The Water Pillar’s body felt far too light...like holding an empty vessel that might shatter from one wrong move. As he set him down, Tomioka whimpered faintly, one blood-slicked hand still clutching at his chest and the other hand on Sanemi’s sleeve before falling limply away.

Amane-san was already at work. She knelt beside the futon, her movements quick, efficient. With delicate hands, she checked Tomioka’s pulse, then his temperature, then gently brushed aside the matted strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Her expression softened, but her eyes were sharp with focus.

“This isn’t a demon’s doing,” she murmured quietly, mostly to herself. “No traces of corruption… but this blood...” she stopped, taking a slow, measured breath. “He’s exhausted. His body’s shutting down from shock.” Her hand trembled slightly as it hovered above Tomioka’s stomach, hesitant but deliberate. The fabric of his yukata, torn and soaked through with blood, had slipped aside, revealing a leg just as crimson streaked as the rest of him.

Sanemi hovered behind her, looked away, throat dry and fists tightening at his sides. He didn’t know what to say...what could he say…what could he do. He’d seen death a thousand times, caused it more times than he cared to count, but watching one of his own colleagues who had seemed until now like nothing could ever affect him…broken like this…it hit differently.

Amane turned to him suddenly, her voice calm but firm. “You’ve done enough. Please...wait outside. I’ll see to him.”

Sanemi hesitated, eyes flicking to Tomioka’s pale, still face. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “He asked for you by name,” he muttered, voice rough.

Amane-san nodded once.

“I will take care of him, go.”

Something in her tone...gentle but unyielding...left no room for argument. Sanemi gave a short nod, stepping back slowly. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the trembling rise and fall of Tomioka’s chest. Then he turned and left, sliding the door slid shut behind him.

The hallway outside was silent, save for the faint rustle of the wind through the paper screens. Sanemi took a long breath, forcing the tightness in his chest down where it wouldn’t show. He wasn’t good at this...this kind of helpless waiting. He’d rather fight ten demons than stand still while someone bled out under his watch.

He straightened his shoulders and started down the corridor, his stride purposeful again. There was only one person who needed to know what had happened.

Oyakata-sama.

Sanemi was guided to the engawa, where Oyakata-sama sat quietly, Kiriya beside him, the soft lamplight casting gentle shadows over his composed face. Sanemi knelt before them, lowering his head in deep reverence, the weight of the night pressing on his shoulders.

“Oyakata-sama,” he began, voice low and rough.

“I heard you brought an injured Giyu here?” Oyakata-sama’s calm tone carried the subtle weight of concern.

“Yes,” Sanemi whispered, the memory flashing before his mind’s eye like a jagged shard. Tomioka, staggering, bloodied, trembling...his blue eyes wide with terror and panic...haunted every corner of Sanemi’s thoughts. His chest tightened painfully. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing anyone he cared about...anyone at all...fall like that again. Even if it was Tomioka fucking Giyu.

“I left him with Amane-san. She’s treating him… I suppose,” Sanemi continued, uncertain of why Tomioka had insisted on being brought here. He didn’t know if he was allowed to ask the why, and a part of him feared the answer.

Oyakata-sama’s gaze softened slightly, though the quiet concern remained.

“You must tell me everything that happened, Sanemi. Every detail.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sanemi drew in a sharp breath.

“We were coming back after completing our mission…Obanai and I…the lower-ranked demon is dead. When we neared your Estate. We smelled it, blood, heavy and… wrong. Obanai and I followed it, and… we…we found him.” His voice cracked slightly, his fingers clenching at his sides.

“Tomioka… he was… staggering, covered in blood, shivering… I’ve never seen him like that. He was soaked in blood, and he… he kept saying he’d killed… someone. I don’t know how much he knew, how much he remembers… but he was terrified, Oyakata-sama. Terrified.”

Sanemi’s breath hitched, the memory of Tomioka’s blue eyes, wide and panicked, burned into his mind.

“Obanai noticed the blood seeping out of Tomioka and pointed out. I… I didn’t hesitate. I carried him here. He asked for Amane-san… begged for her. I...I couldn’t argue. I brought him straight to her. She… she took him in, and I left, to tell you. But…” His voice dropped, the unspoken fear in it palpable.

“…I’ve never seen anyone so broken before. Even after everything, I… I didn’t know someone like him could… fall apart like that…”

Oyakata-sama nodded slowly, absorbing every word.

“You did well, Sanemi. You saved him from further harm. That is all we can ask.”

Sanemi’s shoulders sagged slightly, the adrenaline leaving him in slow waves.

“I-I didn’t know that h-he’s an o-omega…” Sanemi whispered the last part, feeling guilty for no reason, like he had been an audience to something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Ah…yes Giyu…he never hid that from me apart from only the previous water hashira knows about and…and now you and Obanai too.” Oyakata sama sighed and Sanemi didn't know what to say to that.

“Where is Obanai?” Oyakata asked after a tense silence, Sanemi’s eyes widened.

“I-I don’t know I left him on the road, but Tomioka had gestured towards his estate so maybe Obanai has gone there.”

“I see.”

They didn’t have to wait long for Obanai came in looking worse than Sanemi had left him…Sanemi’s heart thudded in his chest…had there been a demon…but Obanai didn’t look like he had fought…he just looked like he was going to be sick. Seeing them Obanai kneeled immediately taking place right next to Sanemi.

“Oyakata-sama.”

“I went to the Water Estate,” Obanai began, his voice low and even, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed his restraint. “It… was chaos. The estate… destroyed. Tatami torn, doors broken, furniture overturned. Blood everywhere. I found a man, unknown to me…an alpha dead in the courtyard. He… had hit something or someone before he fell. His hands were bloodied, the skull split open from the impact. It’s… terrible.”

“The man was an alpha?” Oyakata-sama asked, his voice calm as ever...but there was the faintest tremor beneath it, like a ripple in still water.

“Yes, Oyakata-sama,” Obanai replied, his tone low and contemplative. His mismatched eyes were distant, caught somewhere between logic and disbelief.

A pause followed, heavy and suffocating. The candles flickered in the quiet, the faint rustle of wind through paper doors the only sound.

“And do you believe,” Oyakata-sama continued softly, “that Giyu was the one who killed him?”

The question froze the air. Sanemi’s breath caught painfully in his chest. Killed? Demon blood, yes...they were born and bred to spill it. But human blood? That was different. That was something sacred, a boundary none of them were meant to cross. The image of Tomioka’s trembling hands and shattered expression flashed behind his eyes, and he understood...that’s why Tomioka had looked so horrified.

“Yes,”Obanai said quietly. There was no hesitation. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the turmoil beneath. “It looked like Tomioka used his breathing style on him…judging by the destruction.”

Sanemi’s head snapped toward him, shock flickering across his face. “You’re saying Tomioka fucking...?”

But he didn’t get to finish. The sliding door burst open, the sudden sound making them all tense. Hinaki stood in the doorway, breathing fast, her expression pale with urgency.

“Hahaue requests your help, Sanemi-san,” she said quickly, bowing but unable to hide the fear in her voice.

Oyakata-sama nodded once. “Go, Sanemi. You too, Obanai. I will follow shortly.”

Both pillars bowed deeply before hurrying after Hinaki. The tension that had gripped the engawa followed them down the hall like a living thing.

When the doors to the treatment room slid open, the sight that met them was chaos...quiet, desperate chaos.

Tomioka was thrashing weakly against Amane-san’s gentle hands, his body slick with sweat, his hair sticking to his face. His breath came in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling far too fast. His eyes, usually blank and calm, were wild and glassy with fear.

“Hinaki, leave us and don’t let the other children come in here.” Amane-san ordered, Hinaki just gave a small nod and disappeared.

“Sanemi-san, please...hold him,” Amane-san pleaded, her voice taut with concern as she tried to keep him from reopening his wounds.

Sanemi froze. He didn’t know how to hold him...how to touch someone that fragile without breaking them further. But the desperation in Amane’s eyes left no room for hesitation.

“Get behind him,” she instructed firmly. “Hold him steady...I need to see his....” She trailed off as if saying the next words pained her as much as Tomioka was in pain.

Sanemi moved forward, each step careful, as though approaching a wounded animal, his control over his scent ironclad. He lowered himself behind Tomioka, close enough to feel the tremors running through his back. The scent of blood and fear was sharp, almost overwhelming, his scent turning foul as the seconds passed by.

“Easy,” Sanemi muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if the words were for Tomioka or for himself.

He reached out...and the moment his hands touched Giyu’s shoulders, the Water Pillar flinched violently, a strangled sound escaping his lips. His body jerked forward, but Sanemi tightened his grip, pinning him gently but firmly against his chest.

“Stop...Tomioka, it’s me,” he said, the roughness in his voice softening unconsciously. “It’s Sanemi…you’re safe…no one’s gonna hurt you.”

Tomioka didn’t respond, only trembled harder, his breathing ragged, his eyes unfocused and wet. Amane-san knelt quickly, placing her cool hand over his heart, murmuring soothingly.

“Breathe, Giyu…please...breathe.”

The fight in him slowly ebbed, the tension bleeding out of his body until he sagged limply in Sanemi’s arms. Sanemi held him there, one hand splayed over his chest, feeling the frantic heartbeat finally begin to slow.

He didn’t look up, couldn’t...not even when Amane-san whispered a quiet thank you. His gaze stayed fixed on the broken man in his arms, the one who’d once stood as calm and unshakable as still water.

And all Sanemi could think was that fate had played them cruelly...because now that he’d held Tomioka like this, felt his heartbeat against his own, he knew that neither of them would ever be the same again.

Amane-san’s hands trembled as she lifted the torn fabric, the blood-soaked yukata clinging stubbornly to Giyu’s skin. Her breath hitched...a sound small but filled with horror. Sanemi caught it instantly, his head snapping toward her.

Her face had gone pale, her eyes wide and glistening with something between disbelief and sorrow. Whatever she saw beneath that cloth was enough to drain all the colour from her cheeks.

Tomioka flinched violently, trying to twist away and close his legs, but Obanai was already there, steady and silent, pinning his legs gently. When his eyes fell on whatever the wound was even he paled, the composure he so carefully maintained faltering for the first time.

“A-Amane-san…?” Obanai whispered, voice raw.

She didn’t answer...just reached for a damp cloth, her movements steady. The room fell into unbearable silence, broken only by Giyu’s choked breaths and the soft sound of water dripping back into the basin.

“Please, stay still, Giyu,” she murmured, though her own voice cracked halfway through.

Tomioka shook his head weakly, a desperate plea escaping his lips...half-formed, broken. ignoring Tomioka’s flinches as each time the needle pierced his skin. It felt like a lifetime to Sanemi when she finally straightened and pulled Tomioka’s yukata over his legs. Amane-san sighed and then looked at Tomioka’s hand that was still over his chest and for a long time she stared at it and then looked at Tomioka so heart brokenly.

“Oh, Giyu,” she whispered, the words barely audible.

He didn’t answer. Tomioka’s tears started to fall, silent and awful, he closed his eyes. His shoulders shook once, twice, and then he just… went still. The kind of stillness that screamed exhaustion and despair all at once.

Amane reached toward his hand, the one clenched so tightly over his chest. “He’s holding something,” she said quietly. “Obanai, can you…?”

Obanai hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Amane-san...”

“Please.”

He nodded once, moving closer with reluctant care. “Tomioka… we’re not here to hurt you,” he murmured, more to reassure himself than the man before him.

When he tried to pry the trembling fingers open, Giyu struggled weakly against him, a strangled noise catching in his throat. Sanemi’s grip tightened, steadying him, grounding him.

“Easy,” Sanemi said softly. “Let go… it’s alright.”

After a moment, the fingers slackened.

Obanai caught what fell into his palm...small, wet, and horrifyingly fragile. For a second, Sanemi didn’t understand what he was looking at. Then, as realization dawned, his breath left him, but there on Obanai's palm lay a fetus…a fucking fetus…so small and so still…

He didn’t speak. None of them did.

Amane’s eyes filled with tears, her hand covering her mouth as she turned away. Sanemi couldn’t look; the world had gone unnaturally quiet around him.

And in the center of it all, Tomioka Giyu lay trembling, a broken sound escaping his lips...a small sound that wasn’t a cry but something far worse. A sound that spoke of loss so deep it gnawed at the soul.

Chapter Text

The room had gone utterly silent...so silent that the only sound was Tomioka’s shaking breath. He lay there, broken, whispering in fragments.

“My baby…”
“He killed…”

The words came like ghosts, drifting out of him in pieces that barely held shape. Each syllable was soaked in despair, the kind of grief that stripped a person hollow.

Obanai’s chest tightened painfully as he looked down at what Tomioka had clutched so desperately moments before. It was small, fragile...something that had existed despite this cruel world...only to be snuffed out so brutally. His breath stuttered. For a moment, he couldn’t move.

As much as he had resented Tomioka in life’s ordinary moments...the man’s distant eyes, his quiet aloofness, his high and mighty attitude...none of that mattered now. Not when the weight of loss was so tangible it seemed to crush the air out of the room.

“Lay it here, Obanai,” Amane said softly, her voice trembling but calm. She held out her hands, a folded white cloth resting across her palms. Her movements were gentle, reverent, the way one might touch something sacred.

Obanai hesitated, his throat dry. His fingers trembled around the tiny, still bundle. He couldn’t explain why...why it suddenly felt impossible to let go, why his chest ached like he had swallowed something sharp.

Then he looked at Tomioka.

The Water Pillar had turned away from them, his face towards the wall, silent sobs shaking his thin shoulders. His entire being radiated grief.

Obanai’s jaw tightened. He exhaled a shaky breath and lowered the small weight into Amane’s waiting hands.

She received it quietly, wrapping it in the white cloth with painstaking care. When she finally pulled the ends together, it looked heartbreakingly small...too small.

“Thank you, Sanemi. Obanai.” Amane’s voice was soft, steady, but her eyes glistened. “You’ve done enough. Please… leave us.”

Neither argued. Obanai bowed his head deeply. Sanemi followed suit, his expression drawn tight, eyes shadowed by disbelief. He released Tomioka from his hold, careful not to jostle him, and rose to his feet.

Together, they stepped back. The sound of the door sliding shut behind them felt louder than it should have. In the hallway, neither spoke. The weight of what they had witnessed pressed heavy against their chests. Obanai could still hear the faint echo of from behind the closed doors came Amane-san’s voice, calm but trembling at the edges.

“Giyu… can you tell me what happened, please? I thought things had been going well between you and him.”

Neither Sanemi nor Obanai should have lingered. But they did. And as wrong as it felt too Obanai to intrude on something so intimate but it was also a human need to understand the unbearable. And for once Obanai was not going to ignore his need to know. Either way, both men stayed rooted to the spot, their shadows long against the engawa, the night heavy around them.

For a while, there was no sound except the faint rustle of movement and Tomioka’s uneven breathing. Then, at last, his voice came...thin, broken, barely more than a whisper.

“I-It was… I-I don’t know what h-happened,” Tomioka stammered, every word snagging on his breath. “K-Kenichi-san… he came in… so angry… I-I didn’t understand why, Amane-san.”

There was a pause. They could hear him trying to steady his breathing, a soft rustle as if Amane-san had reached for him.

“H-he hurt me…” Tomiokacontinued at last, voice trembling. “He… he wouldn’t stop yelling. I tried to talk to him but...” He broke off, a choked sound cutting through the air. “Everything happened so fast… k-kicked me on my stomach…there was pain, so much pain… and then…h-he t-tried to pull the b-baby from w-within m-me…a-after that I b-blanked o-out I think…”

Another long silence. Then his voice, lower, shaking,

“When I woke up… K-Keinichi...h-he wasn’t moving. There was blood…so much b-blood…and I… I was h-holding…”

The words dissolved into sobs, the sound muffled but unmistakable...raw, hollow, endless.

Outside, Sanemi’s fists clenched at his sides. His throat burned. He stared straight ahead, unable to mee tObanai’s eyes.

Obanai didn’t move either. His face had gone blank, but his knuckles were white where his hands rested on his knees. Inside, his mind replayed what he had seen...the shattered courtyard, the blood tracks on the floorboards made sense now. It all fit now. Every awful piece.

Neither of them knew how long they stood there after that...minutes, maybe hours. The night stretched endlessly, heavy with grief and the sick understanding of what had really happened.

They stood there for what felt like hours, though it might have been minutes. Time seemed to lose meaning in that hall, stretched thin by grief and the dreadful understanding of what had truly transpired.

The house was silent save for the faint flicker of lanterns and the wind whispering through paper screens. Then, soft footsteps broke the stillness...Kiriya appeared at the far end of the corridor, his young face pale but steady, eyes far too old for his age, beckoned them silently.

Obanai swallowed hard and turned toward the engawa, where the faint light from Oyakata-sama’s room beckoned like a shrine in the dark. Sanemi followed without a word; his expression carved from stone. Their footsteps echoed softly across the polished floorboards, carrying with them the weight of the night...grief, disbelief, and a shared horror neither man would ever willingly name aloud.

Oyakata-sama was seated as before, his posture unbroken despite the fatigue etched into every line of his face. Kiriya bowed and withdrew, leaving them in the hush of the room.

Obanai kneeled first, the ritual motion grounding him. “Oyakata-sama,” he said, his voice low. 

He spoke then, haltingly, telling him everything...the blood, the still body of the baby, the way Tomioka had clung to it small and lifeless, the whispered confession from behind the closed door. By the time he fell silent, the room felt colder, emptier.

For a long moment, Oyakata-sama said nothing. His unseeing eyes were half-lidded, his hands resting lightly in his lap, and yet the exhaustion in him was palpable...ancient, bone deep.

“Sometimes,” he said at last, the words a whisper, “humans are worse than demons.”

The statement lingered in the air, heavy with sorrow rather than condemnation.

Sanemi’s hands clenched into fists, the cords of his neck standing out. “Oyakata-sama, if I may…” His voice was low, roughened by anger he could barely contain.

“Go on, Sanemi,” Oyakata-sama said gently.

“I want to dispose of the body...quietly...before Tomioka goes back to his estate.” His jaw tightened, eyes flashing. “Scum like that do not deserve a funeral. Not after what he did.”

The words came out like broken glass...fierce, unyielding, but trembling underneath with something more complex than rage.

Oyakata-sama shifted to Obanai. “And you, Obanai? What do you think?”

“I agree with Sanemi but at the same time I also think we should wait for Tomioka to…” Obanai trailed off, remembering the expression of pure devastation on his face on his usual stoic…blank colleague and he didn’t think Tomioka would be able to take a decision anytime soon. Sanemi was right, they had to take care of the body.

Obanai hesitated. His usual composure felt fragile, his voice subdued when it came.

“No… I don’t think Tomioka should be the one to see it done. He’s… not in a state to make that choice.” He paused.

“It would break him completely. We should take care of it.” Obanai concluded with a heavy heart.

Sanemi’s expression softened almost imperceptibly, but he said nothing.

Silence stretched again. Oyakata-sama’s eyes closed for a moment, the faintest sigh escaping his lips. 

“Very well,” he said. “You may go. Do it quietly. Let no one else know.”

Both men bowed low, reverent, the gesture carrying as much weariness as respect.

When they rose, the lamplight flickered between them...shadows twisting across the tatami, rage flickering just as faintly at the edge of both alphas...rage… that they could do nothing about.

They slipped into the compound like ghosts, moving with grim precision. The smell of dried blood lingered in the courtyard where it had all happened, sharp and unmistakable. Sanemi’s eyes swept over the destruction of the Water Estate...the gate hanging off its hinges, the door shattered, the silence suffocating. He paused when his boots caught on a dark red trail staining the floorboards.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath. “What kind of man… that fucking asshole…”

Obanai approached him quietly, laying a steady hand on his shoulder before guiding him toward the courtyard where the dead body lay. He ignored the string of curses that left Sanemi’s mouth, his own expression fixed and grim.

Together, they lifted the corpse. It was heavy, stiff, awkward...Sanemi took most of the weight, his muscles straining as they carried it deep into the wooded area behind the estate. The forest swallowed them whole, branches creaking softly overhead.

“This’ll do,” Sanemi muttered after a long pause. His tone was flat, almost mechanical. Obanai crouched and let the weight slip from his hands with a dull thud.

Obanai realized, too late, that they hadn’t brought a trowel. A brief dilemma...one that Sanemi resolved without hesitation. He pointed to the ground where the earth lay flat, and with a quiet exhale, unleashed his Wind Breathing. A gust tore through the clearing, scattering leaves, and when it stilled, a deep hole gaped before them.

Sanemi wiped the sweat from his forehead, then grasped the body by the shoulders. Together, they lowered it into the pit.

Obanai lingered a moment, staring down at the dead man’s face...unremarkable, ordinary, just another human among thousands. And yet this man had been the someone that Tomioka chose to have a baby with. Sanemi sealed the hole with dirt in no time.

“We should pray,” he said softly.

Sanemi turned to him, eyes hard, rage burning. “For him?”

“For Tomioka,” Obanai corrected.

That silenced Sanemi. He bowed his head, muttering something low under his breath...nothing formal, only a whisper the wind carried away.

When he looked up again, the forest was calm. A gentle wind moved through the trees, rustling the leaves as if sealing the grave.

They began the walk back in silence. The path was dimly lit, lined with willows that swayed under the moonlight. After a long while, Obanai spoke, his voice quiet, thoughtful.

“Oyakata-sama was right. Humans can be worse than demons.”

Sanemi gave a short, bitter laugh. “I know. Don’t we know it too well, Obanai.”

Obanai didn’t argue. His thoughts drifted to his own family… and Sanemi’s father. There was nothing left to say after that.

They reached the edge of the estate, the lights of the Ubuyashiki compound faint in the distance. Sanemi stopped, his voice rough. “This stays between us.”

Obanai met his gaze, his tone low but unwavering. “Yes. It will.”

When they returned to the Ubuyashiki Estate, the lanterns had been dimmed. Somewhere inside, Amane-san still tended to Tomioka, her quiet strength the only thing holding the night together. Oyakata-sama remained where they had left him, serene and still, as if carved from moonlight itself.

They joined him in silence, saying nothing, but Sanemi bowed low and murmured that it was done.

Oyakata-sama’s voice was gentle but carried the weight of finality as he turned slightly toward the shoji.

“Hinaki,” he called softly.

The girl appeared almost instantly, bowing low.

“Please show Sanemi and Obanai to their rooms,” Oyakata-sama said, rising with quiet effort. Obanai immediately stepped forward to steady him, his hands light but sure on their frail lord’s arm.

“I have prepared rooms for you both,” Oyakata-sama continued.

“Rest for now, tomorrow will bring new obstacles we must face.”

“Yes, Oyakata-sama,” Obanai murmured, bowing low, his voice subdued.

“Thank you, Oyakata-sama,” Sanemi added gruffly, the exhaustion plain in his tone.

Hinaki led them down the long, quiet corridor. The air smelled faintly of incense and wisteria. Their footsteps barely made a sound against the wooden floor.

When Obanai finally slid the door to his room shut behind him, the silence felt deafening. He let his sword rest beside the futon and sat there for a long time, staring at the soft ripple of moonlight across the paper walls.

He didn’t think sleep would come at all. His body ached with fatigue, but his mind refused to still...the images of Tomioka’s tears, the blood, the tiny, lifeless form in palm...looped endlessly behind his eyes.

A faint, familiar weight shifted beneath his collar. Kaburamaru slithered out, his scales glinting faintly silver under the moonlight as he curled atop Obanai's chest, hissing softly...a comforting sound, steady and alive.

Obanai exhaled shakily, his hand rising to trace gentle fingers over the serpent’s smooth form.

“It was horrible today, Kaburamaru, I buried a man today who was fucking piece of scum.” he whispered, voice raw and low.

The snake’s tongue flicked against his wrist, as though in silent understanding. Obanai lay back slowly, staring up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, sleep an impossible dream now. But simply to rest his aching bones, if only for a moment, before the next storm came.

Chapter Text

Rage… rage was something Sanemi knew better than his own breath. It lived in him, a constant, corrosive companion that had carved its mark deep into his soul long before he ever lifted a sword.

He had grown up in it...bathed in the sound of his mother’s cries, the drunken roars of the man who had dared to call himself their father. His mother...his beautiful, gentle, kind mother...had borne every blow that was meant for her children. She had smiled through her bruises, wiped their tears with shaking hands, whispered promises of safety that she could never keep. She had made him want to be strong. To be the shield between the world and those he loved. To be dependable.

But in the end, even she had turned into the very thing he fought against.
A demon.

That memory...the look in her eyes, the warmth and love turned to hunger for human flesh...was the first brand of guilt on his heart. The second came with Masachika’s death, and Sanemi had never let the wound close. Every demon he slaughtered was an offering to the ghosts of his past. Every fight, a desperate plea for penance.

And then came Kanae.
Bright, kind, untouchable Kanae. The only one who had seen through the storm in him and found something worth saving. She had softened his edges, taught him that there was strength in gentleness too. For a while, he had believed her...believed in a dream that he too could have a family again…but her blood had painted the ground before he could reach her.

And Tomioka hadn’t even thought it necessary to call him.

The memory of that still burned, years later...the arrogance, the cold detachment. The nerve of that fucking bastard.

Sanemi lay on his futon staring at the ceiling, the faint glow of moonlight pooling through the shoji and cutting across his face. Sleep was a foreign thing...mocking him, hovering just out of reach. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again.

The courtyard.
The blood.
Tomioka’s trembling hands clutching that tiny, lifeless thing to his chest.
The sound of his voice, cracked and lost...my baby…

Sanemi’s jaw tightened until it ached. His hands, rough and scarred from years of sword work, clenched around the blanket. The night was too quiet, and yet his thoughts were deafening.

He turned over, trying to find peace, but it was useless. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs; each beat a reminder of how helpless he had felt...how useless all his strength had been in the face of another’s grief. But it also made him realize the same thing as Oyakata-sama had said…sometimes humans are worse than demons…capable of leaving scars far greater than a demon ever could.

The moonlight shifted, silver spilling over the tatami like water, and Sanemi exhaled sharply. He couldn’t lie there any longer.

He rose quietly, sliding the shoji open. The air outside was cold and damp, the world cloaked in stillness. Somewhere distant, a night bird called, lonely and hollow. Sanemi stepped into the dark, his footsteps soundless on the stones.

He didn’t know why he was doing this...maybe guilt, maybe the restless need to do something. Anything. Because staying still felt too much like weakness, and he’d had enough of that for one lifetime.

The path to the Water Estate was half-lit by the moon, the trees whispering above him as he walked. When he arrived, the smell hit him first...the iron tang of dried blood, the scent of splintered wood and rot. The gate still hung half-open, the silence thick and heavy.

Sanemi’s throat tightened as he stepped inside. The destruction looked worse in the dark: broken shoji panels, overturned furniture, blood smeared across the floorboards. His stomach churned as he imagined Tomioka being dragged out like a weakling that he wasn’t. Sanemi sighed in frustration and dragged his fingers through his hair…why had he come back here…he didn’t know…but seeing all the blood and for some reason he didn’t want Tomioka to come back and see this as much as he hated the man…he still wasn’t that heartless.

He found a bucket near the well, filled it with cold water, and returned to the courtyard after finding some rags to clean with. His hands worked without thought, dipping a rag and scrubbing at the stains. The water turned red almost instantly. He changed it, again and again, until the skin of his knuckles split and the scent of blood mixed with his own.

He wasn’t sure how long he kept at it...minutes, hours, maybe more. The moon shifted higher, then began its slow descent. His movements slowed.

The blood hadn’t come off easily but since it still wasn’t dry, it finally did. His stomach churned uneasily but he scrubbed till the floor was rid entirely of the blood.

Sanemi sat back on his heels, breath ragged. The courtyard around him glistened faintly where he’d scrubbed. His reflection stared back from a thin puddle of red water in the bucket...tired, hollow-eyed, furious.

“This isn’t helping, you idiot,” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse. But still, his hands didn’t stop trembling.

He looked around the main house where Tomioka lived, where his life had fallen apart in a single night.

“…You really didn’t deserve this,” Sanemi said quietly, the words almost lost to the wind.

The rage hadn’t left him...but for once, it wasn’t the kind that burned. It was heavy, quiet, and unbearably human.

As dawn began to touch the edge of the sky, Sanemi wrung out the blood-soaked cloth one last time and left it by the well. His hands stung, raw and cold, the water still tinged faintly red as it dripped between his fingers. The courtyard was silent now, save for the soft trickle of the well and the distant call of waking birds.

He moved toward the pond, where the once-bright koi floated lifeless in the ruined water. One by one, he picked them out and laid them gently on the grass before carrying them to the edge of the woods. It felt wrong, somehow...to leave them there...but it was all he could do.

When he returned, he stood for a long moment before the shattered pond. The morning light glimmered weakly on the cracked stones and torn earth. He could almost picture how it must have been...clear water rippling under the reflection of willows, calm and still. The kind of place Tomioka might have found peace once.

Now, everything was broken.

Sanemi let out a slow breath, his chest tight. Whatever form Tomioka had used in his desperation had been powerful enough to tear through everything...the fountains, the walkways, the heart of the estate itself. It had been destruction born not of rage but borne of the need to save his child.

Sanemi made a quiet promise as the first rays of sunlight spread across the ruined courtyard; he didn’t understand the reason. He didn’t want to.  

He would help Tomioka rebuild it...every stone, every ripple, every piece of calm the Water Pillar had lost.

For the first time in a long while, Sanemi didn’t feel like a warrior, or even a man filled with hate.

He just felt… tired…so very tired.

The sun had barely begun to rise when Obanai found him.

The faint gray of dawn softened the ruins of the Water Estate, but it couldn’t disguise the devastation...the splintered wood, the faint stains that even the night’s effort couldn’t erase. The air was cold, damp with the remnants of mist, and Obanai's breath came out in thin white clouds as he stepped carefully through the gate.

He hadn’t slept either. The futon had felt too empty, too quiet, and every time he closed his eyes, he heard Tomioka’s voice breaking apart into those awful, desperate words...my baby… he killed…

He’d finally given up and followed the trail of Sanemi’s scent and the faint clang of water against wood that drifted through the morning air.

When he found him, Sanemi was sitting in the middle of the courtyard, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms red and raw. A half-filled bucket sat beside him, its water murky and pink. Staring at the destroyed pond with a deep frown.

“Sanemi,” Obanai called softly.

The Wind Pillar didn’t look up. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Obanai stepped closer, his sandals making no sound on the wet ground. “Neither should you.”

Sanemi’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t lift his gaze. Obanai finally knelt beside him, noting the faint tremor in his hands as he wrung out the cloth once more.

“You’ve been here all night,” Obanai said quietly.

Sanemi grunted...no denial, no deflection. “Someone had to clean this up.”

“You could’ve waited for the Kakushi.”

Sanemi let out a short, humourless laugh. “And let them see this? Let them talk?” He gestured around at the wreckage, blood-tinged water dripping between his fingers. “No. I couldn’t do that… not even to Tomioka.”

Obanai studied him in silence. The rage that usually radiated off Sanemi was still there, but it had dulled...muted into something heavier: grief, guilt, exhaustion. His eyes were red from sleeplessness; his voice frayed in a way that didn’t belong to the Wind Pillar Obanai knew. Something in that quiet brokenness mirrored what Obanai felt himself.

So he simply nodded and sat beside him.

For a while, they said nothing. The silence between them was thick, filled with the slow rhythm of breathing and the faint stir of wind. The courtyard grew lighter, their shadows stretching long across the broken tiles. Two Hashira, sitting side by side...warriors who’d fought demons all their lives, now facing something far crueller.

“Tomioka will have to rebuild this…” Obanai murmured, his gaze still on the pond. “And I want to help him do that.” He paused, feeling the strange ache of guilt for saying it aloud.

Sanemi hummed, low in his throat, and nodded...but said nothing more.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The courtyard slowly lightened with the coming dawn, their shadows stretching long across the broken tiles. Two Hashira, sitting side by side.

“Let’s go,” Obanai said after a while, standing. “You need rest. Even if you won’t get it.”

Sanemi smirked faintly, tired but genuine. “You talk too much, Obanai.”

“Maybe. But someone has to stop you from burning yourself out.”

They walked back in silence, the wind cool against their faces. Behind them, the Water Estate stood empty and quiet once more, its ghosts fading into the morning light.

But neither of them could bear to look back.

Amane-san found them after they had been force-fed breakfast by Hinaki and Nichika...rice, miso, pickled radish. Neither Sanemi nor Obanai had the appetite for it, but the two girls had insisted with such quiet determination that refusal would have felt like cruelty.

“Thank you for staying back, Obanai… Sanemi,” Amane-san said softly from the doorway. Her voice was as gentle as ever, but there was fatigue in it, the kind that came from both sleeplessness and sorrow.

“How is Tomioka now?” Obanai asked, and the words sounded foolish the moment they left his mouth. Of course, Tomioka wasn’t fine...not after what had happened. Still, the question hung there, heavy and sincere.

“He is injured,” Amane-san replied after a pause, “though not as gravely as I first feared. He will recover… but...” She stopped, her expression tightening, a weary sigh escaping her. “Giyu is sleeping now. I will keep him here until he’s well enough to return to his estate… physically at least.”

Sanemi nodded, looking away. “Thank you, Amane-san. You should rest too. You look tired.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “I will. But only after I make sure he won’t wake up alone.”

Obanai inclined his head. “We’ll stay behind and look after him, Amane-san,” he said quietly. As much as Obanai couldn’t stand Tomioka, the thought of leaving him was more unbearable. His heart twisted with unease at the thought of leaving Tomioka injured and alone.

“Thank you, but you two should rest too.” Amane-san murmured again. Her eyes lingered on them both a moment longer...perhaps grateful, perhaps simply too exhausted to say more...before she turned back toward the inner rooms, where the Water Pillar slept behind closed doors.

Chapter Text

For the next two days, Sanemi and Obanai kept their silent vigil.

They took turns dozing lightly against the wall outside Tomioka’s room, their swords within reach, though no threat prowled the Ubuyashiki Estate. The only sounds were the soft rustle of cloth when Amane-san or one of her daughters entered the room, and the faint, shallow rhythm of Tomioka’s breathing from within.

He didn’t wake. Not when Amane-san changed his bandages, not when she cleaned the dried blood from his skin or replaced his soiled yukata. He lay unnaturally still, a man suspended between life and oblivion, his face pale against the pillow.

The small ice chest sat in the corner, wrapped in pristine white cloth. No one spoke of it, but they all felt its presence...like a ghost that refused to leave. It didn’t feel right to have a funeral without Tomioka, and so it stayed there, silent and cold, waiting.

On the third morning, Oyakata-sama summoned them both. The summons meant only one thing...missions.

Sanemi grumbled something under his breath as he strapped on his haori, and Obanai didn’t answer. They both lingered at the threshold longer than necessary, glancing once more toward the closed door. Each ignored the other’s reluctance to leave.

When Amane-san appeared with a faint, weary smile, she nodded to them. “Go. I will watch over him.”

Neither man answered, a strange reluctance to leave...but they had to leave. So, they bowed slightly, then turned and left.

The mission assigned to Obanai was routine as usual. The demon was old, stubborn, and feral, its body a twisted, regenerating mess of scales and sinew. It took a week before he finally drove his blade through its neck, standing breathless beneath a sky-streaked red with dawn.

But through every strike, every dodge, every endless chase through the forest, there was a strange urgency in him...an ache just beneath his ribs that refused to quiet. He didn’t understand it.

He’d always prided himself on being detached...controlled. But now, in the rare quiet moments when the battle was finished and the enemy lay turning to ash by his feet. He found his mind drifting...to the faint scent of blood and medicine in the Ubuyashiki corridors, to the image of Sanemi sitting sleepless outside that room alongside him, and to Tomioka…pale and silent, clutching the baby like it was all that tethered him to the world.

Maybe it was because he’d seen Tomioka’s mask break… that infuriating, emotionless calm shatter into raw, helpless grief. Or maybe it was something deeper...something he couldn’t quite name, whatever it was he couldn't wait to go back. The sight of a man mourning something so small, so fragile, that it made the world itself feel cruel. The sound of someone breaking for a life that had barely begun.

Someone who cared...who had loved enough to be destroyed by loss.

Obanai had never known what that felt like. No one had ever looked at him that way...no one had ever needed him so much that his absence would carve a hole in their chest. He wondered, for the first time in his life, if he would ever find someone like that… someone who could look past the filth and the curse that clung to his blood and still call him theirs...someone who would love him just enough to be devastated when he died.

The thought alone was enough to make him recoil. He shook his head sharply, forcing the ache down. No. He was too tainted for that. Too far gone to be loved like that.

By the time he began his journey back to the Estate, exhaustion clung to him like a second skin, but he ignored it, his pulse restless and uneven. He told himself he was only returning to report to Oyakata-sama...that was all. That was the only reason.

And yet, when he finally knelt before their leader, his voice even and steady, relief surged through him at Oyakata-sama’s gentle words...his master was so perceptive and for that he was very thankful.

“Giyu woke three days ago,” the Master said. “He has returned to his estate. Amane assures me his strength is returning, slowly.”

Obanai bowed deeply to hide the flicker of emotion that crossed his face. “I see. That is… good to hear.”

When he stepped out into the engawa again, he nearly collided with Sanemi. The Wind Pillar looked the same as ever...sharp-eyed, impatient...but there was a subtle urgency in his movements that mirrored Obanai's own. They both stopped short, flushing faintly, each realizing what the other was doing.

“So…” Sanemi started, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I just finished reporting to Oyakata-sama,” Obanai said, his tone neutral.

“Right.” Sanemi nodded, already moving past him toward the main room.

“Sanemi,” Obanai called before he could disappear inside.

The man paused but didn’t turn.

“I’ll wait,” Obanai said quietly. “We’ll go together… to see him.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Sanemi gave a short, jerky nod and disappeared down the hall without another word.

He told himself again that this wasn’t about Tomioka. It was about closure. Just checking on his colleague. Just making sure the Water Pillar was alive…that is all…

Obanai exhaled slowly and turned toward the courtyard. The faint gray of dusk bled through the trees, the air cool and damp with the first promise of rain. He drew in a long breath.

The scent of wet earth filled his lungs...clean, sharp, grounding. Petrichor. He’d always liked that scent. It reminded him of stillness after chaos, of something that could almost be called peace. For a moment, it steadied his restlessness, and he felt grounded.

By the time Sanemi emerged from Ubuyashiki Estate it was late, the drizzle had begun in earnest in the dark. The droplets hissed softly against the leaves, and Obanai dropped soundlessly from the branch he’d been perched on. Without a word, the two pillars set off toward the Water Estate.

The road was silent...too silent. Even the night insects seemed to have vanished.

When they reached the Water Estate, the sight that met them made both men stop.

The front gate still hung crooked, one side half-torn from its hinges. The panels of the main door that had been shredded, still were shredded. There had been no repairs done on the Water Estate, it was just like how they had left it on that bleak morning.

Sanemi’s jaw tightened. “He hasn’t fixed anything,” he muttered.

Obanai didn’t answer. He stepped forward cautiously, his sandals brushing against splintered wood. The silence that greeted them inside was wrong...too deep, too complete.

“Tomioka?” Sanemi called, his voice echoing slightly in the emptiness. There was any reply.

They moved deeper into the house, past the wrecked engawa, until a flicker of light caught Obanai’s eye. He motioned for Sanemi to stop.

Through the shattered doorway, Tomioka sat hair unbound, his black yukata damp and clinging. The edge of the nichirin blade gleamed faintly in the half-light as Tomioka’s fingers traced along its length. Blood welled where steel met skin, running down in thin, dark rivulets. His other hand lifted almost absently, fingertips ghosting over the hollow of his throat.

“Tomioka!”

Obanai's voice tore through the silence, sharp and panicked.

The hand on the sword froze but Tomioka didn’t move, didn’t even flinch.

Sanemi was the first to reach him, the boards creaking under his feet.

“Oi, what the hell are you doing?” he barked, his tone fierce enough to disguise the tremor beneath.

“Put that down!”

For a long moment, Tomioka stayed motionless, as if caught somewhere far away. Then his shoulders sagged. The sword slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a dull, final sound.

Sanemi reached him first, throwing the sword away as though it burned.

“You, stupid bastard,” he muttered, voice cracking. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Tomioka didn’t respond. His face was pale, almost translucent in the dim light, his lips colourless, eyes ringed red from sleeplessness. Rain dripped through the broken ceiling, soaking into his hair and sliding down his neck like tears he refused to shed.

Obanai knelt in front of him, gaze fixed on the thin line of blood still seeping down Tomioka’s fingers. His scent was restrained unnaturally so. There was no trace this time of grief or despair leaked through this time. It was too controlled, too quiet, and that, more than anything, for some reason made Obanai’s chest tighten.

 “Tomioka,” he said softly, his voice stripped of all reprimand.

“Give me your hand.” Eyeing the blood dripping from his hand, absorbing into his yukata.

Tomioka ignored him and Obanai exhaled, low and even, and rose to his feet.

“Stay still,” he murmured, not expecting an answer.

The shelves along the far wall were in disarray...broken jars, torn bandages, bits of porcelain scattered across the floor. It took him a moment to find the small, lacquered box pushed half under a fallen beam. The lid was cracked, but inside, the herbs and salves were mostly intact.

When Obanai returned, Sanemi was crouched nearby, his head bowed, a frown so severe it would have intimidated anyone…anyone but Tomioka. Tomioka was as still as water his eyes were open, fixed on some point in the darkness, utterly unseeing. Sanemi got up searched for a short while and started lighting all the lanterns...atleast all the unbroken ones. Lightening the room, relief spread across Obanai the dark had been like a physical wound...oozing and gaping. Tomioka blinked and squinted in the light and looked at Sanemi as if to protest but in the end stayed quiet.

Obanai sat again, the wooden floor creaking beneath his weight. He took Tomioka’s hand without asking, turning it palm up, the faint tremble in his fingers betraying what his face would not.

The sting of disinfectant filled the air. The wounds were shallow, but each touch made Tomioka’s hand twitch. Obanai worked carefully, silently, his movements methodical, wrapping the clean bandage around each finger with deliberate care.

“What...you thought killing yourself was the solution?” Sanemi’s voice cracked through the quiet, rough and sharp, but it faltered halfway. He stopped, drew in a breath through gritted teeth, the effort to restrain himself visible in the tightness of his jaw.

“You’re a Hashira,” he said finally, lower but no less fierce. “You have responsibilities. You don’t get to just...give up.”

Tomioka didn’t react at first. He just stared back at Sanemi, his eyes distant, hollow, as if the words were coming from somewhere far away. Then, slowly, he shook his head...as though clearing fog from his mind.

“I’m not,” he said at last. His voice was hoarse, worn from silence, but steady.

Obanai frowned. “Not what?”

“A Hashira.”

The words dropped between them like a stone in still water, for a moment, neither of them moved.

Sanemi’s brow furrowed, his expression caught between disbelief and fury. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Tomioka’s gaze fell to the floor. His hands, freshly bandaged, tightened over his knees. “I’m not a Hashira,” he repeated, quieter this time, like he was confessing rather than speaking.

Obanai exchanged a glance with Sanemi...both equally thrown. “You’re not a Hashira?” Obanai echoed, incredulous.

Tomioka nodded once, slow and sure, as if the truth had sat with him for a long time and he was only now saying it aloud.

“Yes. I’m not like you all.” His voice wavered faintly. “I never passed the Final Selection.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut through the noise of the rain pattering on the roof.

Sanemi’s eyes widened, rage and confusion battling in their depths. Obanai just stared, the quiet unravelling between them, the pieces of Tomioka Giyu...the proud, reserved Water Pillar...thought he wasn’t a fucking Hashira at all for whatever ridiculous reason that he had cooked up in his fucking mind. And for the first time the detached serpent Hashira felt rage at those ridiculous words.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Sanemi let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh short and ugly.

“What kind of bullshit are you spouting now?” he snapped, stepping forward. “You’re sitting here with your sword out, bleeding all over the damn floor, and that’s what you say?”

Tomioka didn’t answer. His eyes stayed fixed somewhere past Sanemi’s shoulder, unfocused, as if he wasn’t really here at all.

“You think this is some kind of joke?” Sanemi barked. “You’ve been fighting along side us for years; you’ve killed more demons than most slayers could ever dream of...and now you tell me you’re not a Hashira?”

Still nothing.

The silence only stoked the fire in Sanemi’s chest until it burned white-hot. He grabbed Tomioka by the front of his yukata, hauling him up halfway from the floor.

“Say something you fucking ass…”

Sanemi paused mid-motion, his chest heaving. For a heartbeat, the only sound in the ruined estate was the rain hitting broken tiles. Then, as if his strength had been cut, he let go.

Tomioka crumpled soundlessly to the floor, collapsing like a puppet with its strings severed.

Obanai moved before Sanemi could speak again. His senses, sharpened by instinct and tension, caught the faintest ripple…the scent of a demon…

He turned sharply, the movement fluid and precise, twisted katana sliding free with a low hiss.

“Sanemi.”

The single word was enough. Sanemi’s head snapped up, his hand already going for his sword.

Obanai shifted his stance, the blade glinting faintly in the dim light, ready to kill it the minute Obanai could see it. Tomioka didn’t move, still sat slumped against the wall, but his eyes weren’t as glazed before.

The rain began to pour harder, drumming against the broken roof and pooling across the shattered floor. A faint shift of movement caught Obanai's eye…a small silhouette standing in the doorway, framed by the water dripping from above.

Slender, unmoving, the figure watched them in silence as water streamed down from the eaves, tracing its outline in silver. For a heartbeat, none of them breathed.

Chapter Text

The rain poured harder, a soft rhythm against the broken roof, the small figure stood still in the doorway. Bare feet splashed softly against the wet floorboards. The girl stepped into view, her long hair plastered to her back, a piece of bamboo tied over her mouth. Water dripped from her sleeves and pooled at her feet. She looked utterly drenched… and oddly adorable...

Sanemi went rigid. Then his jaw clenched, and rage crackled off him like lightning.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he growled, eyes narrowing. “The Kamado demon…this fucking demon…” In one smooth motion, his hand flew to his sword, blade halfway drawn, teeth bared like an animal.

Obanai followed instinctively, katana flashing as he pivoted toward the intruder. The sound of steel cut through the rain.

But just as he shifted to strike, a voice ... a hoarse voice echoed in the room like thunderclap, and it stopped him cold.

“NO…” Sanemi turned to see a Tomioka leaning forward hand raised, panic in his eyes and he looked at him and Obanai.

“Wait,” Obanai muttered sharply, who hadn’t moved from his position. His blade trembled and he let his hand fall to his side. “Oyakata-sama said...don’t.”

Sanemi’s glare was murderous, but he stopped too, every muscle straining with the effort.

“You’re serious?” he hissed pointing his sword at the pink demon.

But before either could move, the little demon tilted her head at them, blinking her wide pink eyes with innocent curiosity ... completely unfazed by two furious Hashira…she shrank and then, without hesitation, she trotted straight to Tomioka.

Her small feet made soft pat-pat sounds as she ran, the hem of her kimono dragging on the floor now too big for her. She stopped in front of him and sat down, her big eyes studying his face for a long, quiet moment. Then, very seriously, she pointed at her soaking wet hair… and then at the puddle forming beneath her.

It was such a simple, guileless gesture...like a child complaining about the rain...that even Sanemi’s anger faltered.

Sanemi didn’t know what to do. Tomioka raised his freshly bandaged hands ... the blood already seeping faintly through the fabric...and placed one gently on the little demon’s head. Sanemi almost let out a warning to not touch her...she was a demon and demons loved blood but the memory of her turning away from his blood resurfaced and he quelled the words that threatened to slip out.

“Hmmm.”

The pink creature let out a small, pleased sound, eyes fluttering in contentment. Sanemi scoffed loudly, while Obanai silently sheathed his katana, muttering something behind his bandages.

“Did you sneak out of the Butterfly Estate?” Tomioka asked softly continuing to pet her. The demon cocked her head to her side and blinked at Tomioka then gave a small nod.

“Kocho is going to be worried about you.”

“Hmm…” she hummed, shaking her head. Sanemi realized with a jolt that she was acting just like a child…a child that he had known in the past. He gritted his teeth in anger and refusal….no this was a demon and demons were evil...right?...

Nezuko tilted her head again, blinking up at Tomioka expectantly, water dripping from her hair and clothes. Then she gestured to her wet clothes, tugging at the soaked fabric as if asking him to fix it.

“Nezuko, you know where your clothes are,” Tomioka murmured sounding exhausted, hand still resting on her head. “Go change and come back.”

But the pink demon shook her head stubbornly...and to Sanemi’s absolute astonishment, her eyes welled up. Her huge eyes scrunched up, and in the next moment, fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Nezuko? Tanjiro’s still not awake?” Tomioka asked softly, brushing her damp cheek with a tenderness Sanemi had never heard in his voice.

Sanemi stared, disbelief turning to something sharper, uglier. Tomioka, the cold, stoic bastard who barely spoke to people...to him, was now cooing to a demon…a fucking demon.

The urge to kick something...the urge to bash the already bashed place...burned in his chest. But when Tomioka looked at the demon again, Sanemi saw something in his expression that made the ugly anger catch in his throat.

Nezuko shook her head sadly, her small frame trembling like she was facing the heavenly tribulations on her own.

“Oh, sweetheart… you’ve been lonely, haven’t you?” Tomioka whispered, voice so gentle Sanemi’s chest ached. It was the kind of voice he imagined Tomioka would’ve used with his own child ... soft, aching, full of love that no longer had anywhere to go.

A sharp pain bloomed in Sanemi’s chest. With a sigh, he sank down onto the floor opposite them, saying nothing.

Tomioka stood after a moment, guiding the little demon by the hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t even glance at the other two before disappearing down the hall. Sanemi and Obanai stared at their retreating backs, dumbstruck.

“He was trying to kill himself just now,” Sanemi muttered finally.

“And now,” Obanai said flatly, lowering himself beside him, “he’s helping a demon change out of wet clothes.”

Sanemi shook his head. “And the most absurd part of all that? The demon...a demon...actually wants dry clothes. What the fucking hell...”

A helpless snort escaped Obanai before he could stop it. He slapped a hand over his face, horrified that he’d laughed. But that only made Sanemi start, a rough bark of laughter escaping him too.

And like all the disrespecting best-friends in the world that laugh at inappropriate times they laughed…the laughter came in gasps and snickers, echoing through the ruined house ... absurd, inappropriate, and a little bit desperate.

They were still laughing when Tomioka returned. The demon trailed beside him, now in dry clothes, humming softly like a child pleased with herself, waving her small arms around in wonder.

Tomioka looked at the two of them as though they’d lost their minds ... which, frankly, they probably had ... but said nothing. He simply sat down, guided Nezuko to sit before him, and began to gently untangle her damp hair. Sanemi and Obanai straightened up instantly, like chastised little boys now with poker blank faces.

The steady schiff, schiff of the brush filled the room, Nezuko humming quietly with each stroke. The sound wove a false illusion of peace that did not exist, but it temporarily made them unsee the destruction around them…made them forget that Tomioka had been beaten to an inch of his life just a week back…made them forget about the small dead foetus that Tomioka had clutched to his chest despite not being able to walk.

But not everyone was lulled in that false peace for a single tear slid down Tomioka's cheek.

It caught the light, fragile as glass, before it fell soundlessly onto the tatami. Another followed, and another, until his face was wet with tears that came without sobs, without sound ... the kind that belonged to someone who did not know how to cry out aloud…like he did not want to direct any gaze to his tears…

Sanemi froze. The laughter that had been echoing in his chest not moments ago turned to ash. He didn’t move. He didn’t know what to do...his fists clenched in his lap, nails biting into his palms. He could fight demons, tear monsters apart with his bare hands ... but this? This helpless, breaking man before him? He had no solution for that.

Beside him, Obanai turned his gaze away, the muscles in his jaw tightening beneath his bandages. He wanted to say something ... anything ... but the words died before they reached his throat. There was no language for this kind of grief.

Nezuko blinked, her humming tapering off. She turned her head, puzzled by the change in the air, then she noticed Tomioka’s tears.

Her small face creased with confusion. She leaned closer, peering up at Tomioka’s face, her small face almost touching his. Her bamboo muzzle shifting slightly as she made a soft questioning noise ... a curious little click.

When Tomioka didn’t react or pull away or stop his tears, she reached out, tiny fingers brushing against his wet cheek. Then, with the simple, wordless gesture just like a child, she crawled into his lap and wrapped her arms around him.

That was all it took…the dam shattered…

Tomioka’s shoulders trembled once, twice ... and then he broke. The first choked sob tore out of him raw, unguarded, the sound of something inside him finally giving way. He clutched the small demon to his chest, curling around her as if she were the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

Nezuko made a soft, muffled sound, her small hand patting his dark hair, the same way Tomioka had patted her moments ago, in what could only be described as an attempt to comfort him. She didn’t understand what had broken…what was wrong with her saviour, but she knew he was sad ... and that was enough.

Sanemi stared, jaw tight, his throat burning. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. Obanai’s eyes softened, his fingers tightening around his own wrist to stop their tremor. Neither of them said a word…there was nothing to say…they sat audience to an absurd sight of a demon consoling a demon slayer.

The rain outside softened to a steady whisper, seeping through the ruins of the Water Estate, carrying the sound of Tomioka’s quiet, broken sobs ... the kind that came from a place far beyond wounds or words.

And for the first time, both Sanemi and Obanai realized they were not standing in front of the Water Pillar anymore. They were standing beside a man whose world had ended ... and who was still somehow breathing in its ashes.

Sanemi and Obanai stayed where they were, silent, still and usure of what to do and how to console the grieving, Omega. But they stayed trying to give whatever silent support that they could until the shaking in Tomioka’s body began to slow. His sobs grew ragged and faint, tapering into soft hiccups. The little demon in his lap gradually stopped moving, her head resting against his chest, her small, form rising and falling with his heartbeat.

Tomioka’s hands clutched her gently, as if afraid to let go. The tears had left streaks down his face, his shoulders sagging as he finally sat still. He glanced down at the small, bundled creature in his lap and whispered, almost to himself, his hands tightening around her.

“I...wasn’t trying to kill myself.” His voice was hoarse, raw, yet quiet enough that only the two Hashira could hear, his face down as if afraid to look at them.

“I-I was just checking...if my nichirin blade...”

Sanemi’s chest tightened. He wanted to snap at him, to tell him that was still reckless and stupid, but the words caught in his throat. Obanai’s hands twitched, restless, wanting to reach out, but neither of them dared move.

The room was quiet now except for the soft rain outside, the hum of Nezuko asleep in Tomioka’s lap, and the slow, steady rhythm of his still-trembling breaths. Sanemi wanted to say something…something that wasn’t rude…something that would help Tomioka, but he didn’t what to say or do.

“Why made you not want to kill her?” Obanai asked breaking the silence, Sanemi’s head snapped towards the serpent Hashira in surprise...well this was a nice topic to discuss...

“What?” Tomioka looked up at last at Obanai, confusion clouding his eyes for a beat.

“The demon in your lap, what made you leave her alive and then pledge your life in return if she strayed? What made you trust her?”

“Nezuko,” he said softly, as if the name itself steadied him. He drew a shaky breath.

“I wanted to kill her. I was going to. Then she stepped in front of Tanjiro.” He paused, as if replaying the memory.

“He was unconscious. She stood between Tanjiro and me, growling, snapping like a wild thing, as if daring me to kill her first before I harmed her brother.” His arms tightened around Nezuko, as if she was something very precious to him.

“She protected him. That moment… it made me see.” Tomioka’s voice dropped so low that Sanemi had to lean closer to hear.

“Not all demons are monsters. And not all humans are good.”

And what could Sanemi say to that?

It wasn’t like he could refute it ... every word of it was true. The proof was right there in Tomioka’s arms: a demon who had somehow managed to do what neither he nor Obanai could ... console a grieving omega.

So, Sanemi did what he always did when things cut too deep. He turned away, ignoring his roaring and confusing emotions.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” he muttered, rising to his feet, his voice rougher than usual.

“To fix all this. You can’t keep living in like this.”

And before either of them could speak...before Tomioka could say anything else that was equally ridiculous or stupid or Obanai could give that knowing look...Sanemi stepped out into the rain, allowing it to swallow him whole.

Chapter Text

Sanemi left with a sharp huff, the sliding door rattling in his wake. The rain swallowed his footsteps quickly, leaving behind only the muted hum of the storm and the soft sound of Nezuko’s breathing.

Obanai stayed seated, still as stone. He told himself he should go too...that he had no reason to linger...but something about leaving didn’t feel right. The silence pressed heavy between them, and when Tomioka finally looked up, confusion flickered in his tired blue eyes.

“Aren’t you going to leave too?” he asked quietly.

Obanai’s answer came after a pause, firm but low. “No.”

Tomioka blinked, startled, as if the very idea of someone staying was foreign to him. Obanai looked away, pretending not to notice, his throat suddenly dry. There was nothing he could say to justify why he was still there...no logic that would sound right even to his own ears.

So instead, he asked the first thing that came to mind, his voice quieter this time.
“Do they… stay here a lot?” he said, nodding toward the small demon curled peacefully in Tomioka’s lap.

“Nezuko and Tanjiro?” Tomioka clarified.

“Yes.”

“They do,” Tomioka said after a moment. “Not that they get much time between missions, but… when they’re not being treated at the Butterfly Mansion, they stay here. I’ve taken responsibility for them.”

His tone was soft...matter of fact, almost...but Obanai heard the unspoken truth beneath it: they were his reason to keep going.

Obanai nodded slowly, letting the words sink in. He looked at Tomioka...at the faint slump of his shoulders, the exhaustion still clinging to him like a second skin...and for the first time, he understood just how much that quiet man carried on his own.

Nezuko shifted in her sleep, a small sound escaping her as she curled closer to Tomioka’s stomach. The faintest ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he adjusted his haori around her, careful not to wake her.

“She seems… comfortable here,” Obanai murmured.

Tomioka gave a soft hum of agreement. “She reminds me that… even after everything, kindness still exists,” he said, voice distant, almost reverent. “I think that’s why I can’t bring myself to see her as a monster.”

The room fell silent again. The wind sighed through the broken gate, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth...petrichor, heavy and pure. It was grounding, even for Obanai. He inhaled deeply, letting it settle something inside him that he hadn’t realized was tense.

“She’s lucky,” Obanai said finally.

“What?” Tomioka asked confused looking up. 

“She’s lucky you found her,” Obanai repeated, eyes fixed on the floorboards. “Not many would’ve given her a chance. I wouldn’t have…I still don’t believe that she won’t harm humans in future.”

Tomioka didn’t respond right away. He just stared at Nezuko’s sleeping form, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead. When he finally spoke, it was a whisper.

“I can’t blame you for thinking that.”

Tomioka’s words hung in the air...fragile, sincere...and Obanai didn’t know how to answer it. So, he didn’t. He stayed seated, listening to the rain and the quiet breathing of the two in front of him.

He’d tell himself later that he stayed to make sure the demon didn’t try anything, but right now, he knew that wasn’t true. He stayed because Tomioka looked like a man who had no one left...and tonight, Obanai couldn’t bring himself to let him be alone.

A month had passed since Giyu had lost his child...because of him.
And still, he didn’t understand why.

There had been no answer in the silence that followed, no meaning behind the unbearable ache that hollowed him out from the inside. He had killed the man responsible, for the death of his child...but even that didn’t bring him peace. There was no satisfaction, no closure, for Giyu couldn’t find a reason for the violence and all that was left was a void…deep and aching.

He didn’t feel guilt. He didn’t feel anger.
He didn’t feel anything.

Each day was the same...the same stillness, the same heavy quiet that filled every corner of the broken Water Estate. He moved through it like a puppet whose strings had long since been cut, doing what little he could to appear alive. His wounds had closed, but the one in his chest… that one still bled quietly, unseen.

Oyakata-sama had removed him from duty, saying they couldn’t afford to lose another Hashira.
Another Hashira.
As if he was ever one.
As if he still deserved to be one, not after what he had done.

He’d tried to tell him that he wasn’t fit...that the title no longer belonged to him...but Oyakata-sama’s gentle voice left no room for protest. So, he stayed. In this house that no longer felt like home. Among ghosts that whispered through the cracks in the walls.

He hadn’t attended a single Hashira meeting in the past month, but that didn’t mean he was left alone. For reasons beyond him, Sanemi and Obanai had taken it upon themselves to invade his silence.

Every morning, just as dawn crept through the mist, they arrived...loud, unwelcome, and relentless. Sanemi swore at every broken tile and cracked beam as if the house had personally wronged him. Obanai said almost nothing, just quietly set to work beside him, mending what could be mended.

They brought supplies to rebuild the Water Estate. They brought food. They brought noise. And sometimes...though they’d never admit it...they brought comfort.

They’d make breakfast and sit there, waiting stubbornly until Giyu picked up his chopsticks first. He ate, if only to end their staring, if only to stop being a burden. He didn’t taste anything, but he ate all the same.

He was grateful, in a detached way. They’d saved his life when they could’ve walked away. And now they stayed, even when he barely acknowledged them. Even when he couldn’t find the strength to speak.

The silence wasn’t as suffocating when they were around. Sanemi’s rough voice filled the gaps that grief had carved open, and Obanai’s quiet steadiness reminded him that not all things broken stayed that way.

Nezuko still came by sometimes...less now that Tanjiro had woken and was training again. She’d always bring some small thing with her...flowers, or a shiny rock...things she thought might make him smile.

He never did. But when she left, the scent of her kindness lingered, soft and fleeting, like rain before it fades.

And though he never said it aloud, Giyu knew...if not for them, for those few stubborn souls who refused to let him disappear completely...he might have joined the dead long ago. But that did not mean it stayed the same way...

The days had started to blur together for Giyu. The same soft scrape of wood being planed, the same clatter of nails, the same voice breaking the peace.

“Oi, Obanai...hand me that hammer before I shove it...” Sanemi’s voice carried through the open courtyard, cutting through the fragile calm like wind against still water.

Giyu sat inside, by the engawa, his cup of tea gone cold in his hands. He had tried...genuinely tried...to ignore it...the previously welcome relief of not being alone now grated on his nerves The noise, the movement, the laughter. He told himself he should be grateful. They were rebuilding the home he had destroyed with his own hands. They were… helping...

But every sound grated.
Every laugh felt like a nail driven into his skull.
He wanted silence. Blessed, heavy silence.

Sanemi swore again, loud and unrestrained. A moment later, Obanai’s voice...low, measured, almost mocking...drifted in reply. The rhythm of their bickering filled the space where his thoughts should’ve been.

Finally, the cup cracked in his hands. He hadn’t realized he’d tightened his grip until the porcelain split, his skin split, tea and blood dripping onto the floorboards.

The noise outside didn’t stop…it never stopped.

He stood quietly; his movements deliberate and walked to the courtyard. Both men paused mid-argument when they saw him...barefoot, expression unreadable, dark hair tied loosely behind his shoulders.

“Shinazugawa,” Giyu said softly. Too softly. Sanemi blinked, waiting for the usual calm indifference. But there was something off in his tone...something sharp.

“Do you ever stop talking?” Giyu asked, still in that same quiet voice. “Or is this… constant noise part of who you are?”

Sanemi stared, surprised into silence. Obanai set his tools down, gaze flicking between them.

Giyu exhaled slowly, almost trembling now. “Every morning, you come here. You hammer, you shout, you curse...and you never stop.” He pressed a hand against his forehead, knuckles white.

“Do you ever think maybe I wanted to live in the silence…maybe grieve peacefully?”

The words hung heavy. The rain started to pelt down, wetting them all, and for once even Sanemi didn’t have a retort ready. Sanemi turned as if to leave, shoulders taut with anger, but Giyu’s voice...cold, sharp, alive for the first time in weeks...stopped him dead.

“Go on, Shinazugawa,” Giyu said quietly. “Run your mouth again, break things, pretend you, care. It’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?”

Sanemi froze mid-step. Slowly, he turned around, eyes narrowing.

“What the hell did you just say?”

Giyu’s lips twitched...not in a smirk, not even close, but in something bitter, ugly.

“I said leave, do not pretend to care what happened here or what happened to me affects you in any way…I know you are doing because maybe it makes you feel like you are a better person than me. But I don’t need your pity…both of yours…” Giyu snapped, he knew what he was spouting was all lies but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Obanai’s breath hitched; he had never heard Tomioka speak like that. His voice wasn’t empty anymore...it was jagged, full of quiet fury that bled through every word.

“You’ve got some nerve, you bastard. You think I’m here out of pity?!” Sanemi took a step forward, fists curling at his sides.

“Then why are you here?” Giyu shot back, voice cracking. “Why do you keep showing up every morning if you hate me so much? Why rebuild the home of a man you can’t even stand to look at?”

The question slammed into the air, sharp and merciless.

Sanemi opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He didn’t know why. He didn’t understand it himself...the way he couldn’t stop coming back, couldn’t leave Tomioka to rot in that ruin of a house. He’d told himself it was duty, or guilt. But hearing Giyu say it out loud twisted something deep in his gut.

“You don’t know when to shut the hell up, do you,” Sanemi muttered finally, stepping closer.

“Maybe not,” Giyu said, meeting his glare with one of his own. “But I’ve been quiet long enough.”

The words were a growl now, ragged from disuse, but there was life in them. Giyu looked like he wanted to fight...to feel something again.

“Do you think I wanted to live like this?!” he snapped, sudden and raw. “You think I enjoy waking up every day to remember what I lost?! You think I wanted to kill him?!”

The last word tore from his throat...“him”...and it echoed through the courtyard like a blade shattering.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Giyu continued, voice low but steady. “I didn’t ask for any of this to be repaired…so leave it and leave me alone.”

 “You didn’t ask because you don’t ask for anything. You just sit there like some ghost waiting for someone to bury you.” Sanemi’s jaw tightened.

“Sanemi,” Obanai warned softly, but Giyu could see the frustration in his eyes too...quiet, simmering. The kind that spoke of exhaustion rather than anger.

Giyu turned his gaze away, toward the half-rebuilt wall.

“I didn’t want this place repaired,” he said. “I wanted it left as it was.”

“As a grave, you mean?” Sanemi spat, dropping the hammer with a clang. “You think sitting here in the wreckage makes it all go away? You think your guilt’s gonna make your child come back?”

The words hit like a blade through bone, and Giyu flinched back, his hands trembling. For a moment, Giyu forgot how to breathe.

“Enough,” Obanai said again, stepping between them, but neither moved.

“Go home, Shinazugawa,” Giyu said quietly, though his hands trembled. “Both of you. I want to be alone.”

“No,” Sanemi snapped, voice cracking under the force of his temper.

“We already left you alone once and look what the hell you tried to do with your sword.”

“If I wanted to kill myself, I would have done it long back and you wouldn’t have been able to stop me. And even if I did how would it concern you?”

Giyu couldn’t take it anymore, he wanted them gone before he said or hurt them in anyway…

“Concern us…he says Obanai…what the fucking hell…” Sanemi’s chest heaved, and for a moment, neither man could speak. The rain came harder, pounding against the edges of the estate making them soaked to their bones, masking the sound of their ragged breathing.

“You really don’t give a damn, do you?” Sanemi muttered, his hands clenching into fists. “We’ve been coming here every single damn day, trying to…”

“To fix a house that I don’t want to be fixed?” Giyu’s tone was quiet, shaking, but every word bit deep. “To sit here pretending to care because you pity me. You think I don’t see it? The way you look at me...like I’m some pathetic thing that needs saving?”

“Stop acting like the world has ended,” Sanemi said finally, low and dangerous. “You’re still here, Tomioka. You’re still breathing, you will get a chance to have a child again. I know how it feels to lose a loved one…all of us do…you are not alone in that.”

Giyu gave a hollow laugh.

“But what would you know about losing a child, Sanemi?” His voice sharper than a blade.

That did it.

Sanemi lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar again, but this time Giyu didn’t let him...he shoved back, hard, the two crashing into the half-repaired wall. Dust rained down as they glared at each other, fury and grief burning in their eyes, neither one backing down.

Giyu’s hand flew up on instinct, grabbing Sanemi’s wrist...but he was weak. The strength that once defined him was gone. The movement was sluggish, his breathing ragged. Sanemi overpowered him easily, slamming him harder against the wall, the sound of splintering wood echoing through the ruined hall.

Obanai stepped forward, tense...Kaburamaru hissing...but stopped when he saw Giyu’s expression.

Giyu wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even trying to fight back. His body went slack in Sanemi’s hold, his lips trembling with something dangerously close to despair.

Sanemi’s grip on Tomioka loosened slightly, though his eyes never left the Water Pillar’s. Giyu’s chest heaved violently, ragged breaths ripping through him as if each inhale burned his lungs. The tension in his arms, his shoulders, even his jaw, began to slacken.

“Shinazugawa…” he gasped, voice hoarse, trembling with exhaustion and the weight of loss he had carried was now crashing over him. “I…can’t…do this…”

Sanemi’s anger faltered, just for a fraction of a second, as he saw Giyu’s knees buckle beneath him. The world seemed to slow. Rain plastered hair to his forehead, slick strands falling into wide, haunted eyes.

“Damn it, Tomioka!” Sanemi growled, catching him before he hit the floor, one arm wrapped around his back, another gripping his shoulders.

Giyu’s body went slack, a heavy weight against him, trembling, shaking, the fight finally draining from him. Sanemi’s breath came in sharp bursts, his own rage and frustration mixing with fear as he felt the fragility of the man, he had always thought untouchable.

“What’s the point?” Giyu rasped, his voice barely audible over the rain. “Everything I touch turns to blood. Everyone I protect ends up dying. Maybe you were right...I should’ve just let it end.”

Sanemi froze. The words hit harder than any punch could have. For a moment, the only sound was the rain beating against the broken roof. Then Sanemi snarled, shaking him once...rough, almost desperate.

“Don’t you ever say that again!” he hissed, voice raw with emotion he didn’t know how to name.

Obanai stepped closer, quietly, silently, his usual calm fractured by worry. He knelt beside them, placing a hand gently on Giyu’s other side, helping stabilize him without a word. His mismatched eyes flicked briefly to Sanemi, silently communicating the same thought: we can’t let him fall alone.

The three of them stayed that way for long, the storm drenching them completely but it was a mere muted backdrop to the tremors of exhaustion and grief within the broken Water Estate. Finally, Giyu let himself sag completely into Sanemi’s hold, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling unevenly.

“I d-don’t know what to do…” he whispered, voice cracking as tears mingled with the rain on his cheeks. “I…don't...know...how…to…live…”

Sanemi didn’t answer, only tightened his hold, his jaw set, rage now transformed into a burning protective fury. Obanai adjusted, supporting Giyu’s side, eyes fixed on the broken omega. 

Chapter Text

The confrontation ended the way storms often do… sudden, fierce, and leaving behind a wreckage of silence more profound than any noise. The rain had softened into a faint, whispering drizzle, a mournful sound seeping through the cracks in the broken roof. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and cold soot, the smell of something violently raw and painfully unfinished.

Sanemi’s grip on Giyu did not loosen; the man had gone completely limp in his arms, a dead weight of utter exhaustion. The Water Pillar’s breathing came in shallow, ragged bursts, his head lolling helplessly against Sanemi’s shoulder as the Wind Pillar half-carried, half-dragged him back inside over the threshold. Each step felt like a surrender.

Obanai followed them, a silent, shadowed sentinel. He looked as if he were holding a tempest inside, wanting to curse, to scold, to demand answers that would make sense of the shattered pieces around them… but he didn't. He understood, with a sinking finality, that words now would only be salt in wounds that were already bleeding freely.

When they reached the main hall, Sanemi’s own strength seemed to finally give way. He sank heavily against the wall, sliding down its length but keeping Giyu upright against him, as if the man would shatter into a thousand pieces if he let go. Giyu’s dark hair was plastered to his clammy forehead, his skin was deathly cold, and yet he offered no resistance. He didn’t even seem to have the energy to blink.

Obanai crouched beside them, the lamplight casting a dim, golden wash over his pale, troubled face. His gaze fell upon Giyu’s right hand, where thin, relentless rivulets of red dripped from a clean slice across his palm.

“Hold still,” Obanai said, his voice so much softer than his usual. He reached into his sleeve, his movements economical and precise, and pulled out a roll of clean bandages and a small, stinging bottle of alcohol.

Giyu did not move. He didn’t flinch away or look up as Obanai began to clean the wound, though his fingers gave a minute, except the involuntary twitch when the alcohol bit into the raw flesh. A fine tremor ran through his shoulders, a testament to the pain, but still… he made no sound. No protest. The silence was its own kind of scream.

“You keep bleeding on things,” Obanai muttered, the faintest trace of wryness touching his tone, a fragile attempt at normalcy. “You’ll ruin what little’s left of this place.”

A sound, wretched and hollow, escaped Giyu’s throat...something caught halfway between a sigh and a broken laugh.

“Wouldn’t make much difference,” he breathed, the words barely audible.

“You’d be surprised,” Sanemi snorted from above him, the words gruff but layered with a bone-deep weariness that stripped them of any true bite.

Obanai finished wrapping the wound with a slow, deliberate precision. His hands were impeccably steady, though something tight and anguished flickered behind his eyes...a tangled knot of frustration, grief, and a profound sense of helplessness.

“There,” he murmured, tying the bandage securely. “That’s the last time I’m patching you up.”

Giyu only gave a slight, weary nod, his gaze fixed on his newly bandaged hands as if he didn’t recognize them as his own. His expression was a closed door, but the terrible, strangling tension in his shoulders had shifted, transforming into a leaden weight of exhaustion.

Sanemi let out a slow, measured breath and pushed himself to his feet. His eyes scanned the hall...the splintered wood, the overturned mats, the tea shattered like forgotten promises across the floor. It was chaos, and Sanemi hated chaos. He rubbed roughly at his forehead, a string of muted curses hissing from his lips before he finally ground out.

“…I’ll fix this.”

He didn’t look at Giyu when he spoke again, the words emerging low and grudging, scraped from a place of raw honesty.

“Sorry… for earlier.”

Giyu blinked up at him, startled out of his stupor, and whispered a reply that was torn from the depths of his shame.

“…I should be the one apologizing. You didn’t deserve that. Not after everything you’ve done for me.”

Sanemi shrugged, the motion stiff as he righted the table, setting it back on its legs with a definitive thud.

“Yeah, well. You needed to snap out of it. I just sped it up.”

Obanai huffed, a sound that could have been amusement or sheer exhaustion, and remained seated beside Giyu, a quiet, solid presence. A few moments later, Sanemi joined them, dropping heavily onto the floorboards with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

None of them spoke. The silence that settled over them was no longer suffocating… it was just shared. A fragile, tangible thing between three silhouettes caught in the blue-gray light of the fading rain, each too proud and too broken to openly admit the faint, trembling sense of relief.

After a long while, Sanemi’s gaze drifted to the room on their left side.

“You got anything dry to change into?”

Giyu hesitated, then glanced down at his sodden clothes, a hot flush of shame crawling up his neck. He didn’t answer.

Sanemi’s frown deepened. “Tomioka.”

“…Yeah?”

“Where are your dry clothes?”

Giyu pointed weakly toward the room. Sanemi grunted, rose, and made his way to the room with purposeful strides. When he slid the closet door open… and froze.

Inside hung only three old yukata, the fabric worn thin and meticulously mended in places where it had once torn. His mismatched haori, fraying pathetically at the seams. Nothing else. No spare uniforms. No winter lining. Nothing that spoke of someone living here, only of someone barely surviving.

Sanemi’s jaw clenched so tight it ached. A sudden, sharp burn clawed at his throat. He closed the door slowly, turning away as his chest constricted with something overwhelming and nameless...it was anything but pity, a feeling too complex and fierce for him to name.

His eyes then fell upon a wooden box tucked discreetly beside the wall...the one Amane-san had sent just a day before. He hadn’t thought much of it then, but now he understood with a sickening lurch… she must have known…

Sanemi opened it, his movements now deliberate, and pulled out a pale-blue yukata, its fabric as soft as spring water. He brought it back and tossed it beside Giyu.

“Change into that,” he said, his voice rough. “You’ll catch a damn cold sitting in wet clothes.”

Giyu reached out and touched the fabric hesitantly, his fingers trembling against its softness. He swallowed hard against the emotion rising in his throat.

“Shinazugawa…”

“What?” Sanemi muttered, staring fixedly at the cracked wall opposite.

“You two should change too. Lest you fall sick because of me.”

Both Sanemi and Obanai looked at him, then at each other. His voice was so soft it barely rose above the gentle patter of the rain.

“Please…”

Sanemi rolled his eyes, but the gesture was devoid of its usual heat, his voice gentler than he intended. “Fine.” He stood and left the room without another word.

Obanai hesitated, his hand still resting on Giyu’s back, feeling the faint tremors that ran through him. The man looked steadier now… if a little hollowed out…but that was to be expected.

“…You won’t fall?”

“I won’t,” Giyu whispered, the promise a fragile thing.

Obanai nodded once, a sharp, curt motion, then stood and followed Sanemi. In the next room, Sanemi was already peeling off his soaked white haori, muttering a stream of incoherent, frustrated words under his breath.

“Why the hell are all these clothes still in a box?” Obanai asked quietly, his voice low.

“They came yesterday,” Sanemi said grimly, not looking up. “Didn’t think much of it. Now I get why.” He gestured vaguely, angrily, toward the emptiness of the other closet.

Obanai’s expression, hidden from the world, softened behind his mask.

“He’s been living like this?” he murmured, the question meant more for himself than for Sanemi. “Kami…”

Both men changed quickly, efficiently. Sanemi slipped into a dark gray yukata, Obanai into one of stark black. When they returned, the air in the hall felt calmer somehow, the storm’s aftershocks finally beginning to recede.

Giyu sat where they’d left him, now dressed in the pale-blue yukata. The colour softened his usual shadows, made him look startlingly like an omega...fragile and soft, not like the usual stoic and cold hashira. It didn’t erase the hollow, lost look in his eyes, but it gentled its harsh edge, making the vulnerability there all the more apparent. Obanai felt a sudden, fierce surge of protective instinct rise within him, so powerful that it stole his breath.

Sanemi crossed the room, picked up the kettle, and wordlessly reheated the tea and the leftover dumplings from lunch. The faint, comforting hiss of steam filled the air. He poured a cup and handed it to Giyu with a gruff command.

“Drink before it gets cold.”

He laid the plate with dumplings in front of them, and as was their unspoken custom, they did not start before Giyu. Obanai took his share and moved to a corner, turning his back to them only after Giyu had picked up a dumpling.

Giyu could only manage two. Despite Sanemi’s urging, he couldn’t force down more; his stomach clenched, threatening to rebel, the food feeling like ash in his mouth. Sanemi stopped his prodding the moment Giyu gagged, his frustration melting into a grim understanding.

“You need to eat more to build your strength back up, if you want to get back on missions,” Sanemi said, the words practical, but his tone was edged with a reluctant concern.

Giyu could only nod in answer, the familiar, suffocating feelings of shame and guilt threatening to pull him under once more. He did not deserve this… this stubborn, relentless kindness, not after the venom he had spewed at him…at them. For the nth time, the wish echoed in the hollow of his chest...a desperate, silent plea that he had died that day.

He was so far lost in the dark spiral of his thoughts that he flinched, violently, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Obanai looking down at him, his mismatched eyes holding a strange, unreadable emotion.

“Come, I have laid your futon… go to sleep,” Obanai said. The simple kindness in the act made Giyu choke, the guilt overflowing and welling in his eyes, making them shine with unshed tears. He nodded silently, unable to speak, and let himself be guided to the futon. He laid down and closed his eyes, too ashamed to see the faces of the men he had hurt.

A moment later, he felt someone drape a blanket over him...not his own threadbare one, but the new, warm one Amane-san had sent. The comfort of it was a fresh agony. Exhaustion, both emotional and physical, quickly claimed him, and he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

“He looks worse now than in the morning,” Sanemi whispered into the quiet, once he was sure Giyu was truly asleep.

“Yeah, the outburst must have taken everything out of him,” Obanai agreed, his voice equally low. “He really prefers his solitude… huh?”

“Yeah… we have our work cut out for us…”

“Hmm…”

Obanai wanted to ask Sanemi why he still stuck around after hearing those sharp, hateful words, but then he knew that question would inevitably be routed back to him, reflecting his own inexplicable commitment. So, he stayed silent. Kaburamaru chose that moment to slither down from his neck and curl snugly beside Giyu’s bandaged hand. Obanai stared, stunned, at his serpent, a creature as prickly as its master, now seeming utterly content next to the sleeping Omega…strange, he thought. It was all so strangely tender.

“I am not sleeping on the hard floor,” Sanemi declared, as if challenging the room itself. He laid out a futon on the ground and settled down on it with a grunt. Well, it looked like they were all sleeping here, then.

The rain had passed, leaving behind the faint, silvery mist of dawn. The world outside was still half-asleep, the air damp and cool, the rich smell of wet earth seeping in through the repaired roof.

Giyu woke slowly, blinking at the pale, morning light spilling through the shoji. For one disorienting moment, he didn’t know where he was...only that it was quiet, and that he was truly, deeply warm. Then he turned his head slightly and froze.

Two futons had been laid out beside his. On one, Sanemi slept sprawled halfway off the mat, his arm flung carelessly across his chest, the familiar, faint furrow of worry still etched between his brows even in rest. On the other, Obanai slept lighter, his posture unnaturally neat, his breathing calm, but his hand still resting near the hilt of his sword, ever the warrior.

The realization struck Giyu with the force of a physical blow...they had stayed. They had stayed late into the night, watching over him. The quiet, immense weight of that truth pressed down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. These two men, who for all purposes hated the sight of him…who had every reason to walk away and never look back, had stayed anyway. He sat up, dislodging the white snake that had been coiled on his chest, and he froze again. Obanai’s snake… Kaburamaru… what was it doing sleeping on him? The snake hissed sleepily and slithered back to where Obanai was sleeping. In the process, his master's bandages had slipped slightly, revealing the very beginning of a scar that shocked Giyu with its implication. A desperate curiosity to see, to understand, flared within him, but he curbed it violently. He did not have the right. He was not worthy of that intimacy.

He rose slowly, with painstaking care, not wanting to wake the two tired alphas who had given him the gift of a peaceful night. He made his way to the kitchen on silent feet.

His eyes drifted to the kettle sitting cold on the hearth. He hesitated, then exhaled softly and crouched down. It was habit, really...a simple, mundane task to fill the crushing silence. If he could just make tea, maybe some rice… chazuke sounded good, something normal, something human… perhaps it could quiet the dull, persistent ache in his chest.

He lit the small stove, coaxing the embers to a fragile life. The sound of the flame catching was oddly comforting. He moved around the kitchen on silent feet, washing the rice, setting the pot to boil. The motions were pure muscle memory…simple…safe.

He didn’t hear Sanemi stir until the Wind Pillar grunted behind him.

“The hell you think you’re doing?”

Giyu turned, startled. Sanemi stood half-awake, his silver hair a wild mess, one eye cracked open in the doorway. He looked rough, but his tone was sharper than his sleepy expression.

“Making breakfast,” Giyu said simply, his own voice still rough with sleep.

“Yeah, no. Sit your ass down.” Sanemi pushed himself forward, rubbing his face vigorously.

“You almost cut your damn hand off last night. You’re not lifting a finger today.”

“It wasn’t that bad and I’m fine.” Giyu protested.

“Bullshit,” Sanemi muttered, already moving toward the stove and gently but firmly pushing Giyu aside.

Before Giyu could muster another weak argument, Obanai appeared, his bandages perfectly in place once more, a quiet shadow now fully awake. His sharp eyes scanned Giyu’s face, searching for any trace of pity in his own gaze, and when he found nothing but weary acceptance, he sighed a quiet sound of relief.

“He’s right, Tomioka. Sit down. You’ll spill something with that hand.”

“I said I’m fine,” Giyu tried again, softer this time… but neither man listened. Sanemi snatched the ladle from his grip with a low, possessive growl, and Obanai seamlessly took over the kettle. Within minutes, they had quietly...and with a surprising, efficient synergy...taken over his small kitchen.

Giyu could only stand and stare, a lump forming in his throat, unsure whether the emotion welling inside him was the urge to laugh at the absurdity or to cry from the overwhelming, unspoken care.

Sanemi grumbled under his breath the entire time, a constant stream of words like “idiot,” “reckless omega,” and “doesn’t know when to stop” weaving through the sizzle and steam of his cooking, but he never once left Giyu’s side unattended. Obanai said nothing, but the quiet, intuitive way he laid out the bowls and prepared the tea for chazuke spoke more volumes than any speech.

It should have been absurd...the Wind Pillar and the Serpent Pillar fumbling through his sparse kitchen like two scolded housewives...but somehow, the sight made something painful and warm twist deep inside Giyu’s chest. He sat down slowly, his throat so tight he could scarcely breathe.

When the rice finished cooking, Sanemi spooned it into the bowls and Obanai poured the fragrant green tea over it. Sanemi set the bowl in front of Giyu with a soft, definitive thunk that broke the morning stillness.

“Eat,” Sanemi ordered, sitting cross-legged opposite him, his gaze unwavering.

Giyu reached for the chopsticks hesitantly.

“You don’t have to...”

“Shut it,” Sanemi cut in, his tone gruff but his eyes holding a steady, unyielding light.

Obanai passed him his own bowl, his mismatched eyes soft in the gentle morning light.

“You can thank us by eating quietly,” he murmured, the words not an order, but a quiet offering.

Giyu lowered his gaze to the steaming chazuke. He didn’t remember the last time anyone had spoken to him like this...without a trace of pity, without the usual distance that surrounded him. It stung the raw parts of his soul even as it soothed them.

The three of them ate in a silence that was no longer felt awkward and treacherous. The steady drip of water from rain-soaked leaves filled the background. Obanai complained about a slightly burnt edge on the rice, but his voice was softer now, lacking its characteristic fire. Sanemi pretended not to hear him, and Giyu sat between them, half-hidden in the quiet, burgeoning warmth, allowing himself, for just a moment, to simply be.

For Sanemi, it was frustrating beyond reason...seeing the same formidable bastard who used to fight side-by-side with him now so thin, so still, so damn empty. A part of him still wanted to shake him, to yell until some spark of the old Giyu fight its way back to the surface. But watching Giyu quietly sip his tea, the steam misting his pale face, the sharp edge of that anger dulled into something else. Maybe this… this simple, shared morning, this fragile silence… was what the beginning of healing looked like for a man like him.

Obanai felt it too...the deep, aching pull of helplessness. He’d tended to countless wounds before, had closed cuts that were far more severe, but this was different. You couldn’t bandage grief. You couldn’t tie loss shut with clean linen. But sitting here, with the clean smell of petrichor filling the air and the faint, steady sound of Giyu’s breathing beside him… maybe, just maybe, their presence was a tether, keeping him from drifting entirely away.

When the meal was done, Giyu gathered the bowls out of long-ingrained habit. Sanemi moved to stop him, a protest on his lips, but then… seeing the faint, returning steadiness in the Omega’s movements, the slightest hint of purposeful action… he just sighed, a sound of reluctant acceptance, and let him.

Chapter Text

The fight had broken something...not just the furniture or the walls, but the quiet stalemate that had hung between the three of them like fog. It was peaceful, the air around them felt lighter, breathable again. For the first time in weeks, Giyu didn’t feel like he was suffocating in his own silence.

The guilt still lingered, of course...it always did. It hovered behind his ribs like a bruise that wouldn’t fade. Every time he looked at Sanemi or Obanai, the memory of his outburst flashed back: the yelling, the anger, the way his control had slipped completely. Yet, neither of them treated him any differently after. There was no judgment at all knowing that he was an omega…knowing that he was too weak to protect his child…knowing that he had killed an alpha...not his alpha though.

He’d expected them to look at him with pity, or worse, disdain. But Sanemi just grumbled about fixing the wall again and Obanai handed him tea like nothing had changed. It was maddening and comforting all at once.

When the silence between them stretched that morning, Giyu found himself speaking...quietly, haltingly...words he had never meant to share with anyone.

“You both know… why it happened,” he said finally, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. “Why I killed him.”

Sanemi looked up from where he was hammering a broken beam back into place. “You don’t owe us an explanation,” he said gruffly.

“I do, after all the things that you both have done for me.” Giyu murmured.

“Because I don’t even understand it myself.”

"Then… tell us. If you want.” Obanai glanced over, mismatched eyes narrowing slightly.

So, he did.

“He wasn’t my alpha,” Giyu began, voice distant...as if the words belonged to someone else. “Kenichi. I saved him seven months ago from a demon. I was too arrogant, and I ignored all the signs and when the demon in its last act of defiance let his blood demon art out, I got a full blast of it. The demon’s blood art, it was lust and it triggered my heat, and his rut.”

Sanemi froze mid-hammer, eyes flicking toward him. Giyu’s voice didn’t waver, but the shame in it was sharp and visible.

“I didn’t have the presence of mind to get away,” he continued. “It was… instinct, I think. I remember trying to fight it, but my body…” he swallowed, staring into the dark tea in his cup, “…my body didn’t listen.”

“Three days later, when the haze of lust had cleared. Kenichi sat beside me, shaking and apologizing until his throat went raw. And I forgave him...because what else could I do? It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault…” Giyu paused as he thought to himself.

‘It was just another cruelty life had dealt me…’

“I left afterward,” Giyu said softly. “I didn’t think anything would come of it. I never thought…”

He trailed off, a faint tremor in his hands. Sanemi set the hammer down quietly. Obanai stayed still, his gaze softening.

“It thought that was that, but life has a way of fucking things for me when all I ever wanted was to be left in peace. So, when I found out I was pregnant, I thought… maybe this was my second chance. I thought it was something good, for once. Amane-san helped me through it. She was the one who told me to write to him.”

Sanemi’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t interrupt.

“He replied,” Giyu went on. “Said he wanted to be involved. I didn’t expect it, but I let him. We met a few times. He was gentle, nervous. He even smiled when he touched my stomach once. It wasn’t love but it was more than I ever expected to receive, and I did not dislike him enough to not consider spending my life with him...I thought my child would have a complete home...”

A faint smile ghosted across Giyu’s lips...brittle, fragile. Giyu had never thought that he could ever get pregnant not after he had gone through. He knew that no alpha would ever want him willingly, and it had not been hurtful when he had slept with Kenichi as he barely remembered what had happened and when he learnt was pregnant, he had felt joy like never before. He would have a child…one of his own…he would share his blood with someone, and he couldn’t wait to raise him or her.

“And then… one day, he came to my estate. He was so angry, and I don’t even know why. Maybe something had changed. Maybe someone had told him things about me. I don’t remember much. Just shouting, his eyes… full of hate and so much pain and when I came around, I found him lying dead in my courtyard my estate destroyed.” Giyu exhaled shakily.

“I never thought that I would be capable of killing someone much less the father of my child, but I did, and I don’t remember how I did it. In the end I failed to protect my child.”

Silence filled the room, thick and heavy. Outside, rain tapped faintly against the patched roof. Giyu laid his heart bare to the two alphas, and he could feel the rage emanating from them, it took all his control to not flinch at that.

“That bastard,” Sanemi muttered, voice cracking under the weight of fury he did not disguise.

“He hurt you, and you still talk like it’s your fault.”

“It is,” Giyu said, too quickly. “If I had been stronger…”

“No.” Sanemi spun around, eyes burning. “Don’t you dare. You didn’t deserve that. None of it.”

Giyu blinked, startled. Obanai reached out, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. “He’s right,” he said quietly. “Stop punishing yourself for surviving.”

Something inside Giyu stuttered...like a thread pulled too tight, suddenly snapping. He looked down, blinking rapidly. 

“We took care of him,” Sanemi said spitting at the last word, his voice rough.

“You didn’t need to see him like that.” Obanai agreed.

“I know,” Giyu whispered. “Oyakata-sama told me. Thank you.”

After a moment, Sanemi turned back toward the half-mended wall, exhaling through his teeth. “We’ll finish this room by sundown,” he muttered, his tone returning to its usual gruffness. “And you…” he jabbed a finger at Giyu, “…are not lifting a damn thing until I say so.”

Giyu opened his mouth to protest, but Obanai cut him off.

“He’s right. You nearly sliced your hand open again this morning trying to move that beam.”

“I was just…”

“Reckless,” Obanai said firmly, wrapping new bandages around Giyu’s palm. “You keep forgetting that healing doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”

Giyu sighed but didn’t argue further. His hand stung faintly beneath Obanai’s touch. Sanemi’s cursing and hammering filled the silence again...a rhythm that, strangely enough, steadied him.

He watched them work together, their scents absent under their ironclad control, never once flaring despite what they knew of him...despite his status, his failures. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Giyu didn’t feel like a broken weapon among men. He felt… human.

As the evening light spilled gold across the mended walls, he found himself bowing to them in gratitude he murmured softly,

“Thank you… both of you.”

They both froze and stood still in front of bowing omega, not knowing what to do. Sanemi cleared his throat.

“Yeah, well. Don’t make it a habit to fall apart again. I’m running out of patience and wood.”

Obanai shot him a sidelong glance. “He means you’re welcome.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Obanai replied in a soft voice that Giyu had never heard.

“And Tomioka you don’t have to bow to us; anyone would have done what we did. So, please rise and don’t bow to us.”

Giyu smiled, a broken and brittle smile as he rose and he shook his head.

“No, they wouldn’t I know…trust me…no one would have helped me…you both did so thank you.” Giyu said softly, memories rushed that he kept locked securely in dark corner in his mind, he shook his head trying to get rid of them…no it was all over…he was out of that hell…

Giyu flinched when he felt a hand shaking his shoulder, he blinked and looked at two concerned alphas, an expression he never thought he would see on Sanemi and Obanai directed at him, but here it was, and he was the target of that concern. Sanemi let go his shoulder as if burned and hot spike of shame burned through but before he could say anything.

“It is okay Tomioka, we won’t touch you without asking you first.” Obanai said his voice still soft and gentle and not a trace of disgust or judgment in those mismatched eyes. Giyu’s eyes turned blurry, and he looked down at his trembling hands and nodded his head.

“You can cry if you want, I’d actually prefer it…let all your grief out Tomioka.” Obanai said as he sidled up next to Giyu. A quiet but strong presence by his side and Giyu hiccupped still not allowing to let his tears flow…he had been crying a lot in front of these two.

Sanemi grunted and walked to towards them and sat next to Giyu on the other side.

“What Obanai said, you need to let it out Tomioka…what that bastard did was horrible and cruel and he was the one responsible for all this and not you…you are not to blame…you did everything that you could.” Sanemi said in voice so soft that Giyu had never heard from the rough alpha and it was directed at him, and it broke him. To be comforted by them…in their kindness and in their acceptance that he wasn’t at fault.

His shoulders shook, a ragged breath tearing free before he could stop it. The tears came soundlessly...the kind of crying that had no sobs, just the hollow release of years of weight pressing out through trembling lungs.

Neither of them moved to hold him. They didn’t need to, their presence by his side more comforting than Giyu could ever admit. When the worst of it passed, Giyu wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, breathing unevenly. His throat burned. His chest ached. But the air around him didn’t feel so thin anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely.

“For what?” Sanemi asked, his voice still strangely soft.

“For being… this.” He gestured vaguely...to his shaking hands, his hollow voice, his existence.

“You think you’re the only one who’s broken? Don’t flatter yourself.” Sanemi scoffed.

That startled a small, breathless laugh out of Giyu...weak, but real. Obanai’s gaze softened further.

“We’re not here because we pity you,” he said. “We’re here because we understand.”

The repaired walls stood straight and clean, the scent of fresh wood mixing with rain-soaked air. The house felt different now lighter, almost alive again.

Later when Giyu tried to stand, his knees wobbled slightly, and Obanai’s hand was instantly at his elbow. “Easy,” the serpent Hashira murmured.

“I was just going to make dinner,” Giyu replied, embarrassed. “You’ve both done enough, you must be tired.”

Sanemi turned, halfway through tying his hair back. “Like hell you are. You can’t cook worth shit in this state. Sit down, or I’ll tie you to that post.”

Giyu blinked, taken aback by the blunt threat, but Obanai was already up and moving toward the small kitchen.

“He’s right,” he said simply. “You rest. We’ll handle it.”

The smell of rice and miso soon filled the small room, faint steam curling through the open shoji as the sun set. Giyu sat where they left him, knees drawn close, watching the two alphas move with surprising familiarity...Sanemi chopping with loud, impatient precision, and Obanai silently adjusting the fire every time Sanemi cursed under his breath.

He found himself murmuring, almost to himself.

“You’re both… getting used to this.”

Sanemi didn’t look up. “What, cooking?”

“Being here,” Giyu said softly.

For once, neither of them had a ready answer.

It was Obanai who finally spoke, ladle tapping gently against the side of the pot.

“Maybe we are,” he said. “It’s quieter here…easier to think.”

Sanemi grunted in agreement, though he didn’t meet Giyu’s gaze.

“And someone’s gotta make sure you don’t waste away.”

“I’m not...”

“You are,” Sanemi interrupted sharply, turning to point a spoon at him. “You look like a damn ghost, Tomioka. Eat more, talk more, stop staring at the floor so much.”

Giyu blinked at the directness, half startled, half amused.

“You’re… surprisingly caring, Shinazugawa.”

Sanemi scowled, cheeks faintly red. “Don’t push it.”

Obanai let out a small huff...a sound that might’ve been a laugh.

“You’ll have to forgive him,” he said, eyes softening as he poured the soup. “He’s bad at showing concern. It comes out like barking.”

Sanemi muttered something about “not needing a translator” but handed Giyu a bowl all the same.

The days stretched into each other quiet, repetitive, and strangely gentle. And though none of them said it aloud, something had shifted between them.

The edges had dulled. The bitterness that used to crackle between them was now replaced by a kind of reluctant fondness rough and unspoken, but steady.
The house was whole again. And perhaps, piece by piece, so was Giyu.

It wasn’t immediate...nothing ever was with Giyu...but little by little, he began to move again.

At first, it was simple things. He swept the floor when Sanemi wasn’t looking, folded their futons before Obanai could object, refilled the kettle before either could scold him. It was never much...but every small motion stitched something back together inside him, a thread pulling taut in the right direction for once.

He even smiled sometimes...quietly, to himself...when he caught Sanemi cursing at a crooked beam or when Obanai calmly scolded him for overworking his hands again.

They had long since stopped treating him like he was made of glass, and once he had hoped to be not disliked by the two alphas and now that he learnt they did not dislike him, it gave him a small sliver of peace.

Sanemi still barked at him, but his words carried no venom...only gruff care hidden beneath layers of irritation. Obanai hovered silently, always near enough to help but never suffocating. Between them, they had rebuilt the house and, in ways none of them admitted aloud.

The days blurred...soft, steady, unremarkable. The kind that healed wounds.

Then, one morning, Sorai's cry split the stillness.

It swooped down through the open window, landing on the table with a sharp flutter of wings. 

"Demon near Flame Estate...demon near Fame Estate." Sorai cawed.

Sanemi was the first to move, as he stood up his mouth pressed into a hard line.

Obanai’s head turned slightly. “A demon be near them, maybe it is here to finish Rengoku?” Obanai pondered.

“We will not know unless we go.”

“Yeah.” Obanai’s eyes flicked up...to Giyu.

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have. And as much as Giyu wanted to go along and help he knew he was in not a state to be helpful to the other two, all he would be was a liability to them and he would never put anyone in danger because of him...ever again.

“You should go,” Giyu said quietly, forcing his voice to sound steady. “You’re needed.”

Sanemi hesitated. For once, he didn’t have something sharp or crude to say.

“Yeah, guess so.”

"Will you be okay?" Obanai asked.

Giyu couldn't bear to look at them, eyes lowering to his hands. They looked steadier now...not trembling, not weak. He’d come so far in these few weeks, and yet... the thought of the house emptying again made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t expected.

“I’ll manage,” he said softly, almost to himself.

“Don’t sound like you’re saying goodbye.” Sanemi frowned. 

“I’m not.” But the way his voice wavered betraying him.

Obanai watched him for a moment...quiet, unreadable...before walking to the entrance.

“We’ll be back soon.” he said. “You better be resting when we return.”

“I’ll try.”

Sanemi lingered longer, he always did.

He looked around the small room...the repaired walls, the patched roof, the faint scent of petrichor. It wasn’t much, but it was home now, and for reasons he didn’t want to name, leaving it...leaving him...felt wrong.

“You’ll be fine, right?” Sanemi asked finally, trying to sound casual.

“I’ll be fine,” Giyu assured him with a faint smile. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Didn’t say I was worrying.”

“Of course not,” Giyu said, and for the first time, there was a glimmer of teasing in his tone.

Sanemi scowled, but the tension in his shoulders eased. “Damn omega,” he muttered, turning away quickly.

When they left, the house felt larger. The silence wasn’t oppressive anymore...just empty.

Giyu stood by the doorway long after their figures had vanished down the path, the echo of their scents fading slowly from the air.

He told himself he wasn’t lonely...that he was used to this, that solitude was familiar. But as the hours stretched into evening, he found himself setting out three cups of tea instead of one.

It was foolish.

He sat down anyway, staring at the untouched cups, his fingers curling around the rim of his own.

He didn’t cry...not this time...but the ache was deep, quiet, and terribly human.

When the night wind slipped through the repaired eaves, Giyu smiled faintly. The house no longer groaned in the rain. It stood firm, steady...a little like him.

The first two days were fine.

Giyu kept himself busy. He repaired the last cracks along the window frame…repaired the boiler with winter already on the doorstep even though he had promised he wouldn’t. He washed their uniforms, trimmed the garden that had started to overgrow. The silence didn’t bother him...not at first. After all, he’d lived most of his life inside silences.

But by the third day, when the wind carried no trace of their scent, something uneasy began to stir beneath his calm.

By the fourth, it turned into restlessness.

He found himself glancing toward the path beyond the gate, listening for familiar voices that didn’t come. At night, he left the lantern burning longer than usual...just in case.

They’ll come back, he told himself each time.

But when the fifth morning came and the crow still hadn’t returned with a message, the air felt colder, sharper...like the world had shifted slightly out of place.

He hated how helpless he felt.

So, he trained.

It started with stretching...small movements, nothing ambitious but he needed to rebuild himself if he hoped to be allowed to be back on mission. Then, before he realized it, his blade was in his hand again…he stared at his blade for a long time. He had never used his water form without it, but he had used it in his distress…in his need to protect his child. For the way the estate had been destroyed it had to be him and his forms. Giyu swallowed his throat suddenly dry, he never thought that something like that could be done…that he could use his forms without conscious effort…he would have to ask Oyakata-sama for now all he could do was practice.

His muscles screamed at first, but he ignored the pain. It felt good...grounding. The rhythm of his breathing, the sweep of the blade, the old patterns his body had never truly forgotten. For the first time in month, he felt alive.

Every swing of his sword stripped away the fog that had lingered in his chest. His balance steadied. His breathing form...Water Breathing, Fourth Form: Striking Tide...flowed smoother, cleaner, more precise. He wasn’t as fast as before, not yet, but he could feel the strength returning.

By sunset, sweat glistened down Giyu’s neck and the thin fabric of his yukata clung to his skin. His lungs burned with every breath...but it was a good burn, the kind that spoke of life returning. His body remembered the rhythm of battle again, the quiet discipline of motion.

He sheathed his sword, the click of the blade echoing softly in the fading light. The forest beyond the estate stood still... birds tweeting, the air already cold with a hint of approaching winter.

And then, faintly, he heard it.

Footsteps…two sets…familiar ones.

The tension that had coiled in his chest for days snapped all at once.

When Sanemi and Obanai appeared at the edge of the path, both dusted with dirt and streaked with dried blood but very much alive, Giyu’s breath caught. Relief slammed through him so hard his knees almost gave out.

“Oi,” Sanemi called, his voice rough but lighter than it had been in weeks. “You look like hell, Tomioka. Been fightin’ trees while we were gone?”

Giyu exhaled shakily...a small, startled laugh escaping him before he could stop it.

“Something like that.”

“You’ve been training.” Obanai tilted his head, mismatched eyes soft.

“Yeah…” Giyu replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I needed to do something when you...” He stopped, cheeks burning. He wasn’t going to say I missed both of you.

“I need to be back on missions,” he finished lamely.

“You’re pushin’ too fast.” Sanemi dropped his pack with a thud, scanning him from head to toe. 

“Maybe,” Giyu muttered. “But I’m fine.”

He almost meant it.

Obanai's gaze flicked down, catching the faint tremor still in Giyu’s hands.

“You were worried,” he said quietly.

Giyu didn’t answer...which was answer enough.

Sanemi blinked, then huffed a laugh that wasn’t quite mocking.

“Didn’t think I’d see the day Tomioka worried about us.” When Giyu didn't say anyhting, Sanemi rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away.

“We didn’t mean to stay that long. The mission turned ugly.”

“I figured,” Giyu murmured, voice soft.

“So… was it an Upper Rank?”

“No,” Obanai replied. “But there were a lot of them. Lower Moons, a nest that had been festering for days.” His mismatched eyes lingered on Giyu, sharp and unreadable.

“Hence the call for backup.”

“Oh…” Giyu hesitated, his brows furrowing. “Are you two hurt?”

He tried to sound casual, but the worry threaded through his voice betrayed him.

Obanai shot Sanemi a sidelong glance, but Giyu didn’t flinch this time. He just smiled...faint, quiet, but real.

“No, we’re not hurt,” Obanai  said after a beat.

“Then that...” Giyu’s eyes flicked to the blood staining their uniforms. 

“Not ours,” Sanemi cut in, his grin softening.

Giyu nodded, exhaling in visible relief. The tension leaked out of him all at once, and both men noticed it.

For a second, none of them spoke. Sanemi’s smirk faltered, caught off guard by the simplicity of Giyu’s reaction. Obanai looked away, his shoulders easing with something that looked suspiciously like warmth. When they entered the house, everything felt subtly different. The air seemed lighter somehow. Their cups were already laid out, the tea cold on the low table, like they'd been waiting for them for a long time.

Sanemi looked around, noticing the tidied shelves, the furniture back in their place, the faint scent of soap and clean linen.

“You’ve been busy,” he muttered.

“Couldn’t sit still,” Giyu admitted, setting their shoes aside by habit.

“Yeah, well…” Sanemi tugged at his sleeve, averting his gaze. “Good, you look better…stronger.”

“You seem more… yourself,” Obanai added quietly.

“And better, I’d say, since you’re actually talking to us in full sentences instead of one-word syllables.” His tone was teasing, but there was warmth beneath it.

“I...I suppose I’m feeling better.” Giyu’s ears reddened. For a moment, he hesitated, glancing between them.

“It’s because of you two,” he said softly. “Because of your kindness.”

Both alphas froze. Then, almost in unison, they flushed red...the kind of quiet embarrassment that didn’t need words. Sanemi grumbled something under his breath and looked away, while Obanai simply nodded once, his eyes gentle.

“The water is hot; I repaired the boiler.” Giyu said, turning quickly before they could see the red tint on his ears. “You can bathe first. I’ve cleaned your uniforms...I’ll place them by the door.”

Sanemi watched him disappear toward the kitchen, a rare smile tugging at his mouth.

“He’s gonna make me soft if he keeps this up,” he muttered.

“Too late for that, I think.” Obanai’s reply was quiet but sure. 

Chapter Text

Steam curled up from the bath, blurring the edges of the world around Sanemi until the only thing that felt real was the slow thrum of his heartbeat and the dull ache in his limbs. The water was hot...almost scalding...but he didn’t care. He needed it that way, needed the sting to chase away the last of the adrenaline still burning through his veins.

He let his head tip back against the edge of the tub, eyes closed, breath leaving him in a slow exhale. For the first time in days, his muscles began to loosen, the tension bleeding out of him in waves. The house beyond the thin walls was quiet...only the faint sound of wind and the trickle of water from the next room where Giyu moved softly, making dinner for them.

Sanemi’s jaw clenched.

The past week had been…a mess. A damned whirlwind of things he didn’t know how to name. He’d gone through rage and pity, guilt and exasperation...emotions he thought he’d buried long ago under years of blood and discipline and how much he had missed him when he was on his mission. But nothing had hit him quite like Giyu’s quiet confession.

The way the Water Pillar had spoken of losing his child...the calm, fragile way he’d said it...had felt like a blade drawn right across Sanemi’s chest. That wasn’t just sadness. That was a wound that would never close. And for the first time in a long time, Sanemi hadn’t known what to do with that kind of pain...how to console Giyu...

He’d wanted to tear the world apart.

He remembered sitting there, fists trembling at his sides, every muscle in his body screaming to find that bastard again...to make him suffer and kill him again. The thought of anyone laying a hand on Giyu, of that kind of violation, made his blood boil until his vision blurred.

It wasn’t logical. Hell, it wasn’t even rational. Giyu wasn’t his...wasn’t anyone’s...but something inside him snarled at the thought anyway.

Then came another emotion, one that had unsettled him even more than the anger.
When Giyu had spoken of Kenichi...of how he’d almost let himself hope, almost built a life beside someone he didn’t love but still trusted...something inside Sanemi had burned.

It wasn’t jealousy. At least, he told himself it wasn’t.

He’d tried to convince himself it was disgust...frustration that Giyu had trusted someone so easily, that he’d been that careless. But the truth itched under his skin in ways he couldn’t shake off. That flare of heat in his chest, that possessive twist in his gut when Giyu had said  I did not dislike him enough to not consider spending my life with him...it wasn’t anger. Not really.

It was something far more dangerous.

Sanemi gritted his teeth and sank deeper into the water, submerging up to his neck. The heat stung his skin, grounding him. “Stupid,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to anyone else.

He wasn’t supposed to care this much. He’d spent years keeping everyone at arm’s length...for their safety, for his own sanity. Yet here he was, sitting in someone else’s bath, thinking about another man’s broken voice, about the way Giyu’s hands shook when he poured tea, about how he still apologized for existing.

Sanemi opened his eyes, staring at the ripples on the surface of the water. The reflection staring back looked tired, older somehow.

“Damn it, Tomioka,” he whispered, the words slipping out unguarded. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

From somewhere down the hall came the faint sound of soft footsteps...Giyu’s steady, quiet rhythm. Sanemi closed his eyes again and let the sound anchor him, unwilling to admit that the silence no longer felt right without it.

Sanemi didn’t know how long he stayed in the bath.

The water had long gone lukewarm, but he hadn’t moved. His thoughts ran in endless circles, looping back to the same damned face...those quiet blue eyes, that calm voice that cracked sometimes like glass under too much strain. Every time he tried to think of something else...of work, of training, of demons...his mind dragged him right back to him.

He dragged a hand down his face, groaning softly. “Get a grip, Shinazugawa,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re acting like some lovesick idiot.”

The knock came just as he considered dunking his head underwater to clear it.
A soft, hesitant tap against the door.

“Shinazugawa?”

The voice was quiet...gentle in a way that always seemed to hit harder than it should.

“Are you… all right? You’ve been in there for a while.”

Sanemi blinked, then cursed under his breath. He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he called back, trying to sound gruff. “M’fine. Just…” He trailed off, wincing at how hoarse he sounded. “Just got lost in thought.”

There was a pause, then Giyu’s voice again...softer this time.

“Dinner’s ready. I’ll… I’ll set it out.”

“Right, be out in a minute.”

He heard Giyu’s quiet footsteps fade down the hall, and for a moment, Sanemi just sat there staring at the door. He let out one last breath and stood, water sluicing down his scarred skin. The towel felt rough against him as he dried off, but he welcomed the sting. It was something real, something to focus on.

By the time he stepped out, hair damp and his shoulder relaxed, the faint scent of miso and grilled fish drifted through the house. The smell was… comforting...homey.
He followed it to the kitchen.

Giyu was there hair damp and loose around his shoulders a certain softness around him, kneeling by the low table, laying out three bowls with quiet precision. His movements were careful...deliberate...the kind of care that came from habit rather than effort. The pale-yellow yukata he wore clung lightly to his frame, tied loosely at the waist. It was simple, but it suited him...the colour soft enough to draw out the warmth in his skin, the folds framing the graceful lines of his shoulders and throat.

For a heartbeat, Sanemi forgot how to breathe. He’d seen Giyu bloodied, battered, ghostly pale with grief...but not like this...not alive. The lamplight caught on the dark strands of his hair, still slightly damp from his own bath, and something in Sanemi’s chest lurched.

Giyu turned at the sound of his footsteps, and their eyes met.

“You’re out,” Giyu said softly, and there was the faintest ghost of a smile there...small, uncertain, but real.

“I hope the water wasn’t too hot.”

Sanemi swallowed, throat dry.

“It was fine,” he managed after a moment, though his voice came out rougher than he intended. He shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he must look just standing there staring.

 “Are you sure you’re okay?” Giyu tilted his head, that quiet curiosity flickering in his blue…blue eyes.

The question shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did. The way Giyu asked...soft, cautious, like he actually cared...made something twist in Sanemi’s gut. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away.

“I said I’m fine,” he muttered, then added, more softly, “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

“I couldn’t start without you two.” Giyu said, setting the last bowl down.

Sanemi’s gaze flicked back to him...to the neat table, the little details: the folded napkins, saw the miso soup, the steamed rice, the grilled fish, the pickled vegetables and sake and the faint warmth in the air that hadn’t been there before. There were a lot of dishes that Giyu had laid out for them.

He didn’t trust himself to speak, not with the way his chest tightened just looking at Giyu.

“You always cook this much?” So, he just grunted, sitting down heavily across from him.

“No. Just… lately.” Giyu hesitated, eyes flickering down.

“Because of us?” Sanemi raised an eyebrow.

“Because it’s nice, not being alone.” There was the faintest nod.

That did it. Something inside him just… went still. He didn’t have an answer for that...not one that wouldn’t sound like he was choking on his own heart. So, he did what he always did...hid behind a scoff.

“Tch. You’re too damn polite for your own good, Tomioka.”

But when Giyu looked up again, that small, soft smile still lingered...a warmth that Sanemi felt like sunlight against skin.

And for the first time, the thought struck him, clear and terrifying:

He’s beautiful.

Not just in the way he looked...though that hit like a punch...but in the quiet way he existed. Fragile, steady, and still standing.

Sanemi tore his gaze away from Giyu and reached for his bowl, deliberately pretending that the sudden warmth in his face came from the steam. His chest still felt tight, though, and every instinct he had to comment, tease, or scowl was muffled by the fragile peace that now hung in the room.

“Wait… l-let’s wait for Iguro,” Giyu said softly, his voice hesitant, almost shy. The words were careful, polite, and somehow made Sanemi pause mid-motion, chopsticks hovering in the air. He tamped down the sharp frisson of irritation...and something else, something he didn’t yet want to name...settling instead for a curt nod. He didn’t trust himself to say anything; a single careless word now could shatter the delicate truce they had spent building in the past month.

At that moment, the sliding door creaked open, and Obanai stepped in, his movements measured, quiet. But then he froze, one foot still in the doorway, eyes widening slightly. Sanemi, still holding his chopsticks, glanced up in time to catch the same look that had briefly stolen his breath...the sharp, almost reverent gaze Obanai now directed at Giyu.

For a suspended moment, the room felt impossibly small. The light falling across Giyu’s pale yellow yukata seemed to highlight every line of his figure, the careful way he had laid out the dishes, the soft attentiveness in his posture. Sanemi swallowed hard, the recognition creeping in that this expression…the slight awe, the almost unguarded admiration…was reflected in both of them. Their own dazed, distracted looks mirrored each other, silent acknowledgment that Giyu had claimed a space in their thoughts that neither had expected.

And for a heartbeat, the three of them simply froze. Sanemi’s hand lingered over the bowl, his fingers tightening ever so slightly, as he tamped down the heat creeping up his neck and the absurd flutter in his chest. Obanai stood in the doorway, rigid yet trembling with a strange mixture of hesitation and wonder, his eyes tracing every careful movement Giyu made...the tilt of his head, the soft way he arranged the bowls, the quiet diligence in his hands. Giyu, blissfully unaware of the storm of emotions he had unleashed, was absorbed in the simple act of serving dinner.

“I-Is something wrong?” Giyu’s voice cut through the tension like a gentle knife, soft, hesitant, laced with a nervous curiosity. He glanced between the two of them, brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, trying to catch even the faintest hint of displeasure or worry.

“Nothing,” Obanai said, the edge in his voice sharper than he intended, a slip born from the sudden vulnerability he hadn’t known he was feeling. Giyu froze and looked at him trying to decipher the sudden cause for the coldness. Obanai took a deep breath, came in and sat down nonetheless, right next to Giyu.

“Is…is…” Giyu began again, voice faltering, before ducking his head, shoulders slumped and busied himself with arranging the food. His hands moving automatically to rearrange the dishes, the tremor in his fingers betraying his nerves. Each careful gesture spoke of someone trying to fix something invisible, to smooth away an unease he didn’t fully understand.

Sanemi shifted in his seat, uneasy, his jaw tightening as he caught the way Giyu’s shoulders slumped slightly under the weight of unspoken questions. The tension in Obanai mirrored his own, a silent acknowledgment that neither of them knew how to navigate this delicate moment. Sanemi could see the guilt in Obanai’s eyes and the longing to reach out, to dispel the awkwardness with a word or gesture, but pride and uncertainty kept him rooted.

And then, of all things, movement came from Obanai’s snake. Kaburamaru slid gracefully down his shoulder, tongue flicking through the air, before slithering right across the table toward Giyu. The serpent’s pale body coiled delicately around Giyu’s wrist, then higher, winding up his arm until it settled comfortably at his neck.

Giyu froze, startled...but then his features softened as he glanced down at the creature. “Kaburamaru?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly when the snake flicked its tongue against his cheek.

“Kaburamaru,” Obanai called, his tone sharp with disbelief. The snake ignored him completely, curling even tighter against Giyu’s skin, content and still.

“It’s alright… let him be,” Giyu said softly, eyes warm with quiet amusement. “He’s, a he, right?”

“Y-Yes…” Obanai managed, staring blankly at his own familiar, his mind clearly trying to process the betrayal. Sanemi had to look away, biting back a smirk at the absurdity of it...Obanai's snake, usually so temperamental, had taken to Giyu like he’d found home.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Sanemi grumbled, mostly to fill the silence before he said something stupid.

Giyu nodded obediently and placed their bowls before them. The aroma of grilled fish and miso filled the air, homey and warm. Sanemi picked up his chopsticks and took a bite, his eyes widening slightly before he could stop himself. It was… good...really good.

“I didn’t know you could cook, Tomioka,” Sanemi muttered around a mouthful, trying...and failing...to sound unimpressed. “If I’d known, maybe I wouldn’t have disliked you so much.”

Sanemi trailed off the words tumbled out before he could stop them, and his brain promptly short-circuited. Idiot. He wanted to kick himself under the table.

But then, to his shock, Giyu smiled...a small, shy curve of his lips that softened his whole face, made him look younger, almost luminous in the lamplight. Sanemi was proud of it and then felt ridiculous immediately after and he wanted to bang his head in frustration and at all the different things he was feeling.

“I don’t think my cooking is good enough to make you start liking me,” he said quietly, the teasing note barely there but real.

 “I...! I didn’t say I l-liked you! Just...just that I could tolerate you!” Sanemi choked, spluttering into his rice.

“Because of my food?”

“Y-Yes! Because of your food!” Sanemi growled, glaring at his bowl as if it had personally betrayed him. His ears burned red.

Across from him, Obanai made a suspicious noise that sounded an awful lot like a muffled laugh, hastily disguised as a cough. Sanemi shot him a glare that promised retribution later, but Obanai didn’t even flinch.

Instead, Obanai turned to Giyu, his tone softening in a way that made Sanemi’s irritation falter.

“Thank you, Tomioka. The food is wonderful,” he said sincerely.

Giyu looked up, startled by the gentleness in his voice, then nodded his head, a faint pink colouring his cheeks.

“I’m glad,” he murmured, his smile small but unmistakably pleased.

Kaburamaru flicked his tongue again, tasting the air before settling more comfortably around Giyu’s shoulders. Even though the air outside was getting colder the air inside was warm and comforting.

When Sanemi was rolling out the futons, despite Giyu’s protests, he looked up to see Obanai and Giyu standing close, and Giyu blush. Whatever Obanai had said made Giyu blush so prettily…fucking hell…jealousy reared its ugly head but Sanemi crushed it with his iron will…no he wasn’t going to think about what Obanai might have said…or the way Giyu’s cheeks pinked…or how pretty he looked…nope…absolutely not.

“I think you should rest more, Giyu.” Oyakata-sama’s voice was gentle, as it always was...but there was an undertone of finality in it, one that Giyu had learned long ago not to challenge. Still, this time, he couldn’t keep quiet.

“But Oyakata-sama… I’m better now,” Giyu protested softly, fingers curling tightly against his knees. “It’s been two months since that… incident.” The last word caught painfully in his throat. “And I’ve been training again for weeks.”

Oyakata-sama tilted his head, his kind eyes unreadable in the dim light of the study.

“Giyu…” he said, his tone patient, fatherly, and unbearably kind...which only made the guilt in Giyu’s chest tighten further.

He rarely disobeyed. Never argued, never thought of protesting against his master. But now, the restlessness beneath his skin felt unbearable.

It had been more than a week since Sanemi and Obanai had left on their respective missions, and the estate had fallen into a stillness that pressed down on him like snow piling on a roof...quiet, heavy, suffocating.

He hadn’t realized, not until they were gone, how much he had begun to rely on them...on Sanemi’s rough-edged warmth that always found its way through his gruff words, and on Obanai’s quiet steadiness, the calm that settled over him like a blanket when his mind threatened to spiral.

They had barged in his life like twin hurricanes and stubbornly re-built his house…his life…they did not leave him even when he hurled insults and cruel words at them. They made themselves comfortable like it was their home and not his. They slept in the same room as him, lending him the silent security that he wasn’t alone. The soft way they looked at him or how Obanai said he looked pretty in yellow…

He’d grown used to their voices in the evening, to the sound of Sanemi’s curses that came out at any tiny infraction, to Obanai's faint laughter muffled behind his bandages, to the way their presence filled the house...grounding him, reminding him he wasn’t alone.

Now, without them, the silence was unbearable, the tea felt colder, the food felt tasteless…and that realization terrified him.

He was becoming dependent again...on comfort, on people, on hope...and he knew what happened when he let himself hope and hope had always betrayed him.

Still, he bowed low, the edge of desperation creeping into his voice.

“Please, Oyakata-sama… send me on a mission. I can handle it. I can’t…” he trailed off, his voice trembling now, searching for words he couldn’t bring himself to say.

I can’t sit here waiting anymore for them.

Oyakata-sama’s expression softened. “You’ve been through more than most, Giyu,” he said quietly. “And while your body may be healing, your spirit needs gentler care. I cannot allow you to go just yet.”

Giyu’s shoulders slumped. The quiet authority in that voice made argument impossible.

“I understand,” he murmured, though his throat felt tight, and his voice trembled despite his best efforts to steady it.

The evening air was colder than before when Giyu stepped out of the Master’s residence. His estate was quiet...too quiet.

His steps echoed faintly against the wooden walkway as he crossed the courtyard, the lanterns swaying gently in the wind. Somewhere far off, the cicadas had gone underground escaping the cold…he wished he were a cicada too so that too could escape from…all this.

When he slid open the door to his quarters, the emptiness inside greeted him like an old ache. The traces of the nights Sanemi and Obanai had spent there were already gone, when laughter and argument had mixed into something unexpectedly warm.

Now, the air felt hollow.

Giyu moved quietly, methodically, setting his haori aside, folding his uniform, and lighting the small lamp on the table. His hands worked from habit, but his mind kept drifting...to Sanemi’s grumbling voice, to Obanai’s faint chuckle, to the way Kaburamaru would sometimes rest near the edge of the table, tongue flicking curiously at the rising steam of their tea.

He found himself reaching for a second cup...then a third.

The realization hit him halfway through pouring the water...that he had prepared tea for three. He froze, kettle in hand, staring at the cups as the steam rose, ghostly and delicate in the pale lamplight.

“…Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, though the word had no bite.

He sat down anyway…alone.

The tea cooled untouched as he stared at the faint rings the cups left on the table, memories curling through him...too gentle, too dangerous.

That night, he barely slept.

The next morning, he tried training...alone.
Then cleaning...alone.
Then sitting by the engawa, watched the snow collect on the branches...alone.

Each hour stretched longer than the last. The stillness pressed on him, filling his lungs like cold water. His body had healed, his reflexes were sharp again, but something inside him felt sluggish, restless...like he was caged.

By the evening, the restlessness had become unbearable.

He returned to Oyakata-sama’s residence again...bowed, waited outside until he was permitted entry.

“Giyu,” Oyakata-sama greeted softly, with that same patient smile. “You’re persistent.”

Giyu bowed lower, shame heating the tips of his ears. “Forgive me. I know I shouldn’t insist, but… please. I can’t remain idle. My body is wasting away. If I cannot fight, then at least let me patrol.”

Oyakata-sama’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment.

“You’re not asking to serve the Corps,” he said gently. “You’re asking to run from your own thoughts.”

Giyu flinched but didn’t deny it.

For several breaths, the silence hung heavy between them...until Oyakata-sama sighed softly and turned to Amane, who had been standing quietly by the doorway.

“There was a report,” she said, her voice calm. “From a village near the northern forest. They mentioned sightings of a strange demon...though the accounts are vague.”

Oyakata-sama looked back at Giyu. “It’s likely nothing more than rumour, but if it will give you peace of mind… you may investigate. Take it slow. No unnecessary risks.”

Relief surged through him so swiftly it startled him. He bowed deeply, his forehead almost brushing the floor. “Thank you, Oyakata-sama. I’ll leave at once.”

“Giyu,” the Master called gently as he turned to go. “You don’t always have to carry everything alone.” Giyu gulped and nodded in answer.

“Giyu, wait,” Amane-san said, her tone a blend of concern and reprimand. She disappeared down the hall for a moment and returned almost immediately, holding a small wooden box wrapped neatly in cloth.

“I was going to send this to you tomorrow,” she said as she approached. “And please...like last time...don’t give your clothes away.”

He blinked, startled.

“It’s already winter,” she continued softly, pressing the box into his hands. “You need to be warm, especially after…” She trailed off, her gaze dipping, her voice catching on unspoken memories. The worry in her eyes made something in his chest twist painfully.

“It is my order,” she added firmly when he hesitated. “I know you’ll ignore a request...but you can’t ignore an order.”

A pang of guilt ran through him. “…They needed it more than I did,” he murmured, trying to defend himself.

“I know,” she said, her tone gentling again, “but you need it too, Giyu.”

Her kindness hit him harder than he expected. He swallowed against the lump forming in his throat and managed a quiet nod. “Yes, Amane-san.”

He accepted the box with both hands, bowing again in gratitude he couldn’t voice. When he finally stepped outside, the morning air bit at his skin...sharp and cold, filled with the faint promise of snow. Her words lingered behind him, carried on the wind like a fragile warmth that refused to fade.

And so, he locked his estate, slung the small box beneath his haori, and set out alone.

Chapter Text

The fields were steeped in silence ... the kind that followed slaughter. Snow had begun to fall, faint and fine, collecting on blackened branches and the blood-spattered earth. Giyu moved like a shadow through the mist, his breath forming pale clouds. Something in the air was wrong ... too still, too cold.

He found the first body near a stream. The uniform was torn, the blade snapped in half, the tang of rot in the air. He knelt beside it, his expression tightening. Fresh. Whoever had done this was still nearby.

Then ... a low growl broke through the stillness. Followed by a voice, strained and human:

“Bastard… come here…!”

Giyu’s head snapped toward the sound filled with malice and wickedness…the demon it was nearby. He was already moving when the ground beneath him split ... a blur of movement, claws slicing upward. He leapt back, Nichirin blade flashing in the dim light. The demon lunged from the shadows, tall, sinewy, its limbs far too long for its frame, eyes glowing sickly green.

It grinned, black saliva dripping from its fangs. “Another one? Oh good… I am so hungry.”

Giyu didn’t waste breath on words. His blade came up in a flash ... Water Breathing, Second Form: Water Wheel! ... the arc of his attack slicing through the air in a spray of frost and blood. The demon screamed as its arm flew, but instead of falling, the severed limb twisted midair, forming into something snake-like that shot straight for him.

He pivoted hard, the movement instinctive...too slow by a fraction. The demon’s claw grazed him, not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to catch the top of his haori and the tie at the back of his head.

There was a sharp snap and then there was a soft rain of black strands.

His ponytail fell in a single dark sweep across his shoulder, the loosened hair sticking to the sweat at his neck. The haori tore clean down the middle, one sleeve flapping uselessly as he steadied himself, blade raised again. For a heartbeat, he froze, eyes narrowing as the demon’s grin widened at the sight.

Then he exhaled...slow, steady, deadly calm…none of this mattered, not when another life was slipping away in front of him. He lunged again, every movement precise, driven by the same cold resolve that had carried him this far.

Behind the demon, something moved. A figure, half-collapsed against a tree ... a slayer, by the looks of it, uniform shredded, and blood pooling beneath him.

“Run…” the boy gasped, his voice ragged carrying over. “Get out of here…”

Giyu’s eyes flicked toward him, brief but assessing ... too young, badly injured, but still alive. That was all that mattered.

“Stay still,” Giyu ordered, low and calm.

The demon laughed, stepping closer, its face twisting grotesquely. “How sweet… you want to play hero. You’ll both die anyway.”

It lunged again. Giyu met it head-on ... the air around them crackling with the force of each blow. The demon’s speed was unnatural, but Giyu was faster.

He moved through the forms like a whisper through water. Fourth Form: Striking Tide. The blade flowed like a current, each motion precise, relentless. He felt the drag of resistance as steel met flesh, and then ... a shriek.

The demon staggered back, half its torso severed. “You… scum…how dare…” it rasped, hatred spilling from its voice. “I’ll...”

The words cut off as Giyu exhaled and moved again. Sixth Form:The Devastating Whirlpool.

The world seemed to twist around him…a spiralling surge of water and power erupting from his blade. The air howled as his strike spun outward, catching the demon mid-charge. In an instant, the demon’s head hit the ground a heartbeat later. Ignoring the demon’s disbelief and curses, Giyu ran to the injured slayer.

The younger demon slayer lay half-buried in leaves and blood, his uniform shredded, one arm bent at a terrible angle. His breaths came in shallow, desperate gasps.

“Hey...hey, stay with me,” Giyu murmured, dropping to his knees. He tore open his satchel, pulling out the bandages and the medicinal salve that he had packed. His hands shook only once, then steadied as muscle memory took over. He worked quickly...binding the worst of the wounds…making sure that blood was not seeping out from the bandages, he pressed his hand to slayer’s chest to feel the faint thrum of a heartbeat.

The demon slayer stirred, eyes fluttering open weakly. “Wh…who-are…?”

“I’m Tomioka Giyu,” Giyu said quietly. “Don’t talk, save your strength.”

The boy’s lips moved, something about his brother, about the mission gone wrong, before he slipped back into unconsciousness. Giyu exhaled shakily, shoulders trembling. There was no time to waste, he carried the boy on his back and started running, but he was already weak, but he couldn’t slow down now…not if it meant he would be responsible for another’s death. And that was something Giyu would die before letting it happen. By the time he reached the Butterfly Estate it was midday, and the boy was barely alive. His haori was torn, and blood...the boy’s and his own...streaked his hands.

“Help! Someone...!” His voice cracked, raw from disuse, his hands and legs trembling from the strain of carrying the boy. He burst through the entrance, and the Kakushi rushed forward, taking the boy from his arms and disappearing toward the infirmary.

He stood there for a moment, heart hammering, when a familiar voice cut through the haze.

“Tomioka-san.”

Giyu turned. Shinobu stood at the far end of the corridor, her arms crossed, eyes unreadable but sharp enough to cut.

“You missed the Hashira meeting,” she said evenly, coming towards him though her gaze dropped to the blood staining his uniform. “And I see you’ve been busy.”

“Yes, I was on a mission...” Giyu didn’t know what Oyakata-sama had told them about his absence, so he did what he did best…he stayed silent

“I can see that,” Shinobu replied, stepping closer. “But you should have reported in, at the very least. Oyakata-sama was worried.”

“You wanted me to report to Oyakata-sama, instead of bringing the injured boy here?” Giyu asked simply.

Her brow twitched, her mouth curved in her sickly-sweet way.

“You took my meaning in a wrong way Tomioka-san.” She said, her voice soft...but in that soft tone lay the warning edge of a blade.

“I meant about the meeting.”

“Oyakata-sama knew why I was absent,” Giyu said sharply, his composure fraying. “If that didn’t satisfy your curiosity, you may ask him next time.”

“Hmm… you seem talkative today,” Shinobu murmured. Giyu’s jaw tightened; he hated this tone from her...soft, playful, and sharper than any blade.

“Is there anything you need from me?” he asked, voice clipped.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and antiseptic. Her eyes hard as ice and Giyu recognized her mood, the one where she would lash out at anyone who dared to talk to her, and he had just pricked the viper just by being in her vicinity.

“No,” she said at last.

He nodded and turned to leave.

“You do know,” Shinobu said quietly, “that the boy you brought in is Shinazugawa-san’s brother, right?”

Giyu froze. Slowly, he turned back to her.

“If something happens to him,” she continued, “then this will be the second person Shinazugawa-san has lost, and you have been there both times.” Her words were soft, but they landed like a blade. Giyu’s breath stuttered, his heart hammering…what was he supposed to say…did Shinobu imply that he had something to do with their deaths…?

“He loved my sister, you know,” she went on, eyes suddenly distant. “When she died of her wounds... you didn’t help her immediately. Not right away, at least.”

“I did,” Giyu burst out, his voice shaking. “I did what I could. I didn’t chase the demon...I brought her back to you, but by the time I did, she...she was...”

“You didn’t do enough.” The words were calm, colder than steel. They hit harder than any strike. Giyu stumbled back, his throat closing, unable to meet her gaze.

“I did everything I could do at that moment and if I could die instead of her, I would have…in an instant.” Giyu said clearly and swallowed the rest of the words…for what justification could he give; her sister was dead when he was still here.

“…I’ll go report to Oyakata-sama,” he said at last, voice hoarse. He walked past her before she could speak again.

As soon as Giyu stepped out of the butterfly estate he sent Kanzaburo ahead to Oyakata-sama that he had found Sanemi’s injured brother and delivered him safely to the Butterfly Estate, and that he would resume his mission to the Northern Forest.

He didn’t stop till he was at his estate, and pulling out the haori which had been granted to him when he Oyakata-sama made him the Water Hashira. He didn’t stop to think till he had his now torn haori in his hands and froze, his stepped moved unconsiously towards his room where he kept his daily clothes. All the while staring at it the torn haori. His vision blurred, his throat tightening as the tears finally spilled, silent and hot…the last piece of neesan and Sabito and now it, too, was ruined…beyond repair this time.

With trembling hands, he folded it gently, thankfully there was no blood on this one at least and kept it next to the bloodied one that was still red with his child’s blood. When he slipped the new haori on, it felt foreign, cold, heavy, and wrong.

A violent shudder passed through him. He clenched his fists, unclenched them, and forced himself to breathe.

Inhale…exhale…again…

But no matter how deeply he breathed, the air wouldn’t reach him, and if something happened to Sanemi’s brother then he would too….

Well, this is what he wanted isn’t it…then why at the thought of Sanemi and by extension Obanai too hating him again make his heart shatter so horribly. The thought of them turning away from him again made his chest ache so unbearably.

He shook his head sharply, took a warm hanten from the box that Amane-san had given him, packed it in his satchel along with other necessities and turned toward the door… and froze. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror.

He had forgotten. The demon’s claws had raked through it, slicing the tie and severing completely his long strands. The left side of his face was completely obscured by the loose hair, while the right revealed uneven, jagged tufts where the claws had nearly grazed his skin. He reached up with a trembling hand, fingertips brushing the short uneven ends. He sighed feeling tired and hollow, he would have to get a haircut to make him see without any obstruction. So, he washed his hands, took a last look around at the lonely estate, locked it and made his way to the barber.

It had begun to snow by the time he stepped out of the barbers. The air was cool, and he shivered as the cold air brushed against his freshly shorn neck. His hair was short now, too short, and he felt… exposed. Lighter, yes...but not in a way that comforted him. It felt like shedding one more piece of the person he used to be.

He tilted his face up to the rain, eyes half-closed, and murmured softly,

“…It doesn’t matter.”

Then he adjusted the strap of his sword, turned north, and set out once more into the forest.

When dawn came, Kanzaburo found him again. The old crow landed heavily on his shoulder, feathers ruffled from the long flight, voice croaking with exhaustion. Giyu reached up to steady him gently, murmuring his thanks. It was time to move on.

The Northern Forest wasn’t marked on any of the newer maps, but the villagers had called it by another name...Kurogahara...the Black Field.

Giyu entered a village at the edge of the forest, something was strange, and he could understand why Amane-san had said strange rumours. The villagers had been afraid, too. When he asked about demons, the oldest man just shook his head.

"Don't go in after dark," he whispered. That made sense to Giyu, it meant a demon was there. Then the man added, "And if you hear someone call your name... don't answer." That part did not make sense to Giyu…that was strange. The other people looked away from him. One mother grabbed her child and ran inside, praying loudly. The others wouldn’t even meet his eyes. A mother had dragged her child inside when he approached, muttering hurried prayers under her breath.

By the time he entered the forest, the last threads of daylight were gone.

As soon as Giyu entered, the very air wept with a silent, suffocating grief. The trees huddled together in a grotesque imitation of fellowship, their bark like leprous skin, their roots erupting from the soil like the twisted, blackened veins of a buried giant. The ground yielded beneath his feet with a sickening, spongy give, as if the earth itself was a bloated corpse swallowing his every step. No wind dared to stir the skeletal branches, no chattering’s of the birds…it was like the entire forest was dead. Giyu felt a weird shudder pass through him as if he was stepping into something that he wasn’t supposed to…but this is what he had asked for…begged for and he wasn’t going to be a coward just because of the odd feeling in his gut.

For two days, Giyu moved through the woods like a shadow...quiet, efficient, waiting. But the forest did not behave like any other. His steps made no sound. Kanzaburo had gone silent. Every direction looked the same. No corpses, no bones, no scent of blood or demon...only the faint, sickly-sweet scent of damp moss and rot.

At night, when he made camp, he would hear it. Whispers. Just beyond the reach of his firelight. They never came from one direction. Always moving, always circling.

Once, he thought he saw a pale shape between the trees...the silhouette of a man hanging from a low branch, swaying slightly. But when he stepped closer, the figure was gone. Only the rope remained, frayed and empty, creaking softly though there was no wind. Giyu blinked, shook his head…no this was only a trick of light…that is all…but he couldn’t tamp down the nervousness…something was very wrong here.

By the second evening, his food was running low, his sense of direction long gone. The compass spun uselessly in his palm. Every path he tried led him back to the same gnarled cedar, its trunk split open like a mouth. Kanzaburo had tried to show him the way but maybe it was because of his age the old crow could not guide him

“Strange,” he murmured under his breath…a word that Giyu felt he had used a lot in the past two days. His voice sounded too loud, almost foreign here, but it was okay nothing terrifying or deadly…yet…

That was when he heard it...a woman’s voice. Soft, lilting. Familiar.

“...Giyu…”

He froze, no that wasn’t possible.

“Ne…neesan?” he whispered before he could stop himself, the old man's warning forgotten.

“…You left me…abandoned…me…I…am…so…lonely…Giyu…won’t…you…join…me!”

No…this wasn’t his neesan…she was gone…she could never be this cruel…

The air turned cold...so suddenly it burned his lungs. Mist began to coil between the trees, thin and pale. Through it, shapes flickered...translucent, human, eyes black and wide. The yūrei drifted soundlessly toward him, their feet not touching the ground. Their faces were blank, mouths slightly open as if still trying to scream.

Giyu’s heart slammed against his ribs, an irrational fear taking over his senses. He backed away, reaching instinctively for his sword. But when he drew it, the mist only thickened, swallowing the steel in a dull shimmer.

They were all around him now...dozens, maybe more. The terror mounted as the yūrei came closer, this was something he had never encountered…demons he could kill…but ghosts…no…all rational thoughts gone so he turned and ran.

The forest seemed to twist beneath his feet, paths rearranging, branches clawing at his haori. The cold deepened until every breath came in shards. He stumbled over roots, ducked under low boughs...and then, all at once, the ground fell away. He tried to find purchase on anything that he could find grab on to, but his hands were too clammy, and they slipped. His breathing stuttered in his chest, and he felt close to death and surprisingly he did not want to die…the revelation burned away his fear that was clouding his judgment. And somewhere along the chase he lost Kanzaburo, his didn't hear the indiganant caw too lost in his own fear.

Giyu hit the earth hard, rolling, his shoulder screaming in protest. When he looked up, the trees had thinned. He was standing before a small clearing. He was breathing heavily; he rolled his shoulder only to wince. He took stock of his surroundings, frantically his heaty beating loudly in the silence of the forest as he tried to calm himself.

A waterfall spilled down a narrow cliff, pale in the moonlight. At its base, half-buried in moss and age, stood an old stone altar...cracked, but still intact. The faint remnants of a carved kanji could be seen beneath the lichen:
水波能売命...Mizuhanome-no-Mikoto, goddess of flowing water.

His hand rose to his shoulder to pet Kanzaburo but found him missing, his mind remembering now that this old crow had fallen away from him. For a second Giyu panicked but then realized that Kanzaburo would find him no matter the situation, he trusted his old companion. The sound of the waterfall was the only thing that broke the suffocating silence. 

Giyu took a slow step forward. The air here felt… different. Heavy, but clearer somehow. He could feel the pull of something ancient, watching him...not malevolent, not kind, but awake, he could feel the presence of something ancient and the hair on his nape rose, he swallowed hard.

The mist lingered at the edges of the clearing, coiling and uncoiling like breath...hesitant to draw closer. But he did and Giyu found an altar, he felt his fear receding and his mind getting clearer. He stared at the ancient altar, its surface half-swallowed by moss and years of neglect. Slowly, he reached out and brushed away the fallen leaves and dirt, each motion unthinking, but respectful. The stone was cold under his fingertips, but it felt alive...pulsing faintly with something older than the forest itself.

From his satchel, he pulled what remained of his provisions...five small onigiri wrapped in paper. He hesitated, then unwrapped two and placed them gently on the altar, just as his sister used to do when she prayed, he did not have incense but this would have to do.

Without fully realizing it, he sank to his knees. The earth was damp and cold, seeping through his uniform, but he didn’t move. His head bowed, his hand resting against the base of the altar.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

The words came from somewhere deep, somewhere raw...a confession torn from the quiet places in his chest. He didn’t know who he was apologizing to the goddess, maybe it was to his sister, Sabito, the boy he couldn’t save, or the child he had failed to protect. The sorrow in him cracked open, spilling out in quiet, broken sobs that shook his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out again and again, his forehead pressing against the stone. He cried without restraint and air surrounded him like it was embracing him, he shuddered.

In that moment, he felt it...not terror, not even loneliness, but recognition. The grief in the air matched his own. The silence of the goddess was not cruel; it was warm like a mother’s embrace.

Then, the waterfall shuddered. Its low roar deepened, shifting into something that wasn’t sound but feeling...a resonance that thrummed through the ground, up his arms, into his bones.

A whisper brushed against his ear, soft as flowing water, neither male nor female...something between a sigh and a voice.

“...Giyu.”

His breath hitched. He lifted his head, scanning the clearing, but there was no one there. The air was no longer heavy or cold. It was...warm…gentle.

“You have not been abandoned,” the voice murmured, distant yet near, echoing inside him. “Nor are you alone.”

The words dissolved into the sound of rushing water.

And then, as if the forest itself had been holding its breath, it exhaled. The wind stirred for the first time in all the time that he had been here, sweeping through the branches, carrying away the mist that had clung so tightly. The trees whispered softly, like a thousand sighs of release.

Giyu remained kneeling, face wet with tears, watching as the clearing filled with pale morning light. The loneliness inside him had not vanished but in its place was the feeling that he wasn’t alone nor was he abandoned.

The whisper of the forest hadn’t left him. Even after the air grew still again, something subtle lingered...a pull beneath his skin, a quiet insistence. Giyu stood slowly securing his satchel, brushing his knees, his gaze drawn to a narrow break in the undergrowth to his left. A faint trail hid beneath layers of ivy and fern, so overgrown it might have gone unnoticed...but as he stepped closer, the foliage moved.

The leaves parted softly, as though stirred by invisible hands, clearing the path before him. Giyu froze, breath misting in the cold air. His pulse fluttered once...not with fear, but with recognition. The same gentle warmth he’d felt at the altar brushed against him again, coaxing, guiding.

“…You want me to follow,” he murmured.

It wasn’t madness; it felt like purpose, and ignoring how strange all of it was he stepped forward. The earth beneath his sandals was soft, damp, and oddly warm, as though the forest itself had decided to shelter him. He walked in silence, the faint rustle of leaves following him like a song, the world narrowing until all that existed was this narrow path and the quiet thrum of unseen eyes watching from above.

When the trees finally parted, he stumbled into a small clearing...a perfect circle of stillness. The bright moonlight spilled freely here, painting everything in silver and pale blue. The air was cold but not biting; instead, it carried a strange serenity that settled in his chest like a lullaby…it was so peaceful here and after a long time Giyu felt like he could breathe.

There were no weeds here, no twisted branches, no decay. The ground was carpeted with soft moss, the trees stood straight and tall, their bark smooth and untouched. It was as if the goddess herself had wrapped this place in her hands and kept it apart from time.

Giyu let out a quiet breath, the weight in his chest easing, his shoulders relaxed and he sat down, not knowing what to do next for the urge that had been guiding him was now silent. Then…he heard it…his name being called out. Confused he looked at the direction from where it was coming.

“TOMIOKA!”

The voice tore through the calm like a blade. Giyu frowned, the sound echoing unnaturally in the open air. For a heartbeat, he thought he’d imagined it. But then came another, breathless and urgent.

“Tomioka! Don’t move!”

Two figures broke through the treeline...Sanemi and Obanai, their footsteps loud, frantic, alive. The serene stillness of the clearing shattered under their intrusion; birds startled from the branches, and the peace rippling as if in annoyance.

A frisson of irritation flashed through Giyu’s chest...quick, familiar. They’d broken the quiet, the sacred calm he’d found. But before he could form a word, before he could get up and take a step toward them.

The ground trembled.

The moss beneath his feet gave a soft, cracking sigh, and then collapsed.

“TOMIOKA!”

The world tilted violently, in the silver light, the flash of their terrified faces, the sharp gasp torn from his throat...and then he was falling.

Cold air rushed past him, the moon’s glow spinning away into darkness. He reached out, fingertips scraping against damp stone, but there was nothing to grasp. The last thing he heard before the world went dark was Sanemi and Obanai frantic voices, rough and panicked, echoing his name into the pit that swallowed him whole.

Chapter Text

“Tomioka!”

The echo of Sanemi’s shout vibrated down the pit walls, chased by the frantic shuffle of boots on soil. Giyu coughed once, brushing dirt from his shoulder. The fall had knocked the breath out of him, but nothing felt broken...just bruised and shaken his already sore shoulder twinged in pain.

Above him, framed by the bright disc of the moon, were two pale faces...Sanemi’s tense, eyes wide with panic, and Obanai’s face taut with worry.

“Tomioka!” Obanai’s voice carried down, steady despite the tremor at the edges. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” Giyu called back, breathless but clear. “It’s… not that deep.”

Sanemi exhaled harshly, a sound somewhere between relief and exasperation. “Don’t move! We’ll find a way to pull you up!”

“Okay,” Giyu called back, though his gaze was already shifting.

The moonlight spilled faintly down the walls, just enough to illuminate what lay around him...not the rough earth of a pit, but smooth, shaped stone. It wasn’t natural. The longer he looked, the clearer it became...faint carvings, remnants of shelving, even a rotten table slumped against one corner.

This wasn’t a hole. It was a room, a man-made one, whatever it was, it looked like the Goddess had meant for him to find it.

And as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the shapes scattered across the floor...books, their spines not effected by time, rolls of paper, something metallic glinting faintly under a broken beam.

Curiosity prickled at the edge of his unease. Slowly, Giyu reached into his satchel and pulled out the small oil lamp he carried for night patrols. He struck the flint. The faint flame sputtered, then steadied...and the light crawled across the walls. Papers stuck on every surface revealing words and symbols carved on everyone.

And then he saw it.

Kibutsuji Muzan.

The name stared back at him from the top of a small chest aged with time but still in pristine condition, written in bold, elegant strokes of ink that looked like it had barely faded with time.

Giyu froze. His blood ran cold, for a heartbeat, he could hear nothing but the pounding of his heart. he touched the box hesitantly, it was cold to touch but not getting any malice from it, Giyu picked it up. It felt right as soon as he picked it up, he stared at the box.

Muzan…here...hidden deep beneath a forest the villagers were too afraid to speak of…why was his name here?

A faint whisper brushed against his mind...not words this time, but a feeling. The same quiet force that had guided him to the altar. A pulse, warm and insistent, urging him forward.

“Take it,” it seemed to say. “Take everything.”

He didn’t question it, he moved quickly, methodically, gathering every scrap of paper, every ledger and journal all in their pristine state and like that there were several other small chests. Giyu found a small, sturdy box sat beneath the table, its hinges still intact. He brushed the dirt off, opened it, and began to fill it carefully.

Page after page, bundle after bundle, all the chests...and somehow, though it shouldn’t have been possible, everything fit. The box never grew heavy, never overflowed. It was as though the space bent around his need.

When he closed the lid, the air shifted again...a faint hum ran through the stones underfoot.

He turned, startled, and saw it...a set of narrow stairs leading upward, cut neatly into the wall where there had been nothing before. The faint glow of early dawn bled down through the opening at the top.

“Tomioka!” Sanemi’s voice echoed again, distant but anxious.

“I’m coming,” he called up, tucking the box under his good arm. He climbed the steps, the sound of his own breathing mingling with the growing chorus of morning birds.

By the time he emerged, the moon was gone, replaced by a sky streaked with soft pinks and gold. Mist still clung to the edges of the trees, curling lazily between the trunks like the last remnants of a dream. The chill had softened, the oppressive weight that had clung to the air gone as though the forest itself had exhaled.

Giyu stepped out of the narrow opening, boots crunching on wet earth. The box was still clutched tightly in his arms, his knuckles pale against the dark wood. He barely made it two steps before the tremor in his legs gave out. The exhaustion, the pain, the fight, the fear, the strange stillness that had followed...all came crashing into him at once. He dropped down heavily onto the ground, half sitting, half slumped, his feet still on the last few stone steps that led below.

He didn’t even have the chance to lift his head before he was hit by a wall of warmth and strength…two walls of warmth and strength…

Sanemi had been injured on his mission. The demon had been like a cockroach...persistent, vile, and impossible to kill. He’d finally managed to destroy it, but not without nails sinking in his forearm in the process.

He returned to report to Oyakata-sama first, his wounds stinging with every step. He didn’t want Giyu to see him like this, didn’t want to make him worry...something he told himself he didn’t care about, though lately that lie had grown harder to believe.

At the Butterfly Estate, Aoi had taken one look at his injuries and frowned.

“You’re staying here at least a week, Shinazugawa-san. That wound is deep and if it gets infected, you’ll lose more than just pride.”

He had wanted to argue, to walk straight back to the Water Estate...to Giyu...but the look on her face silenced him. With a low growl, he gave in.

Sanemi hated being here. The Butterfly Estate was too quiet, too clean, too filled with the ghosts of things he didn’t understand...gentleness, patience, care. He didn’t know when it had happened, but the Water Estate had begun to feel more like home than his own and that thought unsettled him and the irony wasn’t lost to him.

By the fourth day, when the fever had broken and he was finally allowed to walk, he went out into the garden to get some air. That was when he saw Giyu.

The Water Pillar was walking toward the estate gates, carrying someone on his back...a boy, limp and bloodied, his haori torn, hair obscuring his face, Sanemi frowned. There was something familiar about him. He took a step forward, his pulse quickening.

Shinobu appeared at the gate, her sharp voice cutting through the air. “Tomioka-san, you missed the Hashira meeting.”

Sanemi slowed, watching from a distance. He saw the blood on Giyu’s hands, the tightness around his jaw. He heard the faint edge in Shinobu’s tone...and the quiet exhaustion in Giyu’s.

Then her words shifted, softer but crueller. “You know that boy is Shinazugawa’s brother, right?”

Sanemi froze mid-step. His breath caught as her words went on, dripping with that same saccharine venom. And then Giyu’s voice...hoarse, desperate...broke through his thoughts, denying her accusation, insisting that he had done all he could for Kanae, that he would have preferred to die in her place.

Sanemi didn’t know what to feel. Giyu’s anguish was raw, and it stirred something ugly in him...a mix of guilt and an ache he didn’t have a name for. He stood motionless long after both of them had disappeared.

A cry from within the infirmary snapped him out of his daze. Genya.

All thoughts of Giyu and Kanae vanished as Sanemi bolted toward the sound. The scent of blood hit him the moment he entered. Aoi was bent over Genya, needle flashing in the light as she stitched up the deep gashes across his abdomen.

There was so much blood. For a moment, a cruel thought flickered through Sanemi’s mind...what if I’m too late again?

He stood there, rigid, watching silently as Aoi worked with steady hands. When she finally noticed him, she startled.

“Shinazugawa-san…!” she exclaimed, startled but not afraid.

He didn’t move, couldn’t trust his voice. The fury that had burned in him when Genya joined the Demon Slayer Corps was gone...burned away, leaving only anxiety and concern for his brother. And beneath that, a thick, choking guilt for all the years he’d spent pushing his brother away.

“Genya will be fine,” Aoi said gently, reading what he couldn’t say. “Tomioka-san did a good job treating him before bringing him here. He’s only sleeping...he’ll wake up soon.”

Sanemi’s throat tightened. “Thank you,” he managed, the words barely a whisper.

When Aoi left, the silence of the room wrapped around him like a shroud. He stood there for a long time, watching Genya’s chest rise and fall, remembering how small he used to be...how easily Sanemi could lift him with one hand. Now he was taller, broader and scarred like him.

He reached out, fingers hovering inches above Genya’s hair, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch him. Not yet. Not until he was sure he deserved it.

So, he stood there, a silent sentinel by his brother’s bedside, waiting...for Genya to wake, for his guilt to ease, for the faint, distant sound of running water that always seemed to remind him of home.

The night passed restlessly. Every time Genya groaned in his sleep, Sanemi jolted awake, heart pounding, unsure if the sound was real or a remnant of old nightmares. The flicker of the oil lamp cast shadows across the room, and each one seemed to breathe with the rhythm of Genya’s shallow breaths. The night gave him time to think of what he wanted to do…with Genya…with Giyu…it forced him to reflect on things that he locked in a box tightly. And when dawn finally broke, pale light spilled through the paper screens, Sanemi at least knew what he wanted with Genya…Giyu on the other hand…

A low groan pulled his attention to the sleeping boy.

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and turned just in time to see Genya’s eyelids flutter open. The boy squinted at the brightness filtering through the window.

Sanemi shot up, instinct overriding fatigue, and crossed the room in two quick strides. He yanked the curtains shut to dim the light and turned back, his chest tight with something he couldn’t name.

Genya was staring at him, eyes wide, disbelief warring with relief.
“A-Aniki…?” His voice was rough, the single word trembling in the quiet morning air.

Sanemi froze. The word...Aniki...hit him like a blade to the gut. He hadn’t heard it in years. His throat worked soundlessly, but no words came out.

Try as he might, he couldn’t untangle the mess of emotions twisting through him. He was still angry at Genya...for joining the Corps, for throwing his life into the same hell that Sanemi had wanted to spare him from…from risking his life…from not living his life…away from…But the thought of seeing Genya bloody and lifeless trumped that rage, the panic dismissed it like it was nothing,

“I’m sorry.”

The words were weak, cracked with exhaustion, but they shattered the wall between them. Sanemi’s eyes snapped to Genya’s face.

“I’m sorry for saying all those things…when… you had to…” Genya’s voice faltered, and his eyes filled with tears he tried to blink away. “When you had to kill her…”

Sanemi’s breath hitched.

He had imagined this moment countless times...the day Genya would finally understand...but now that it was here, it didn’t feel like relief. It felt like drowning all over again.

“Genya…” he started, his voice raw. He sat down at the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly between his knees, afraid that if he reached out, he’d break.

“You were a kid,” he muttered at last, staring at the floor. “You didn’t know. I didn’t want you to see that side of me. Hell, I didn’t want you to see any of it, now.”

Genya shook his head weakly, tears slipping down his cheeks. “You saved me, Aniki. I was too stupid to see it.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not suffocating. For the first time in years, it wasn’t anger that filled the space between them...it was grief, shared and silent.

Sanemi leaned back, exhaling slowly. “You’re still a damn idiot for joining the Corps, I never wanted you to join…have this life…I wanted you sit back and enjoy the life which I was going to give it to you…but I never could…” he muttered, voice gruff but softer now, words tumbling out without his control, but he was glad he was able to say it.

“But…I’m glad you’re alive, Genya.”

 “You too, Aniki.” Genya smiled faintly, eyes closing again.

“Genya, I have to go somewhere, can you promise to stay till I come back, and actually listen to me this time.” Sanemi asked. Genya opened his eyes again; he gulped then he nodded.

And after years of not being able to touch his brother Sanemi reached out, patted his head and with smile that was more like a grimace Sanemi left to find Giyu.

Chapter Text

The walk back to the Ubuyashiki Estate from his mission was a long one...and for Obanai, it was too quiet. The steady rhythm of his footsteps against the dirt path left him alone with his thoughts, and in that solitude, he was forced to come to terms with all that he had seen… and all that he had begun to feel.

The past two months had stripped away every misconception he’d ever held about Tomioka Giyu.

The bloody mess when Amane-san had parted Giyu’s legs that was seen by only him and Amane-san. Obanai had seen demons tear people apart, had watched comrades die in his arms, but he had never felt such cold fury as he had when he realized what had been done to Giyu. The violence of it...human hands inflicting something so vile...had made his stomach twist. He had wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

He had been grateful…furiously grateful…that Giyu had already passed out before he saw any of it and that the man was dead before Obanai could get to him.

As he walked beneath the canopy of whispering trees, Obanai exhaled softly. He had been wrong...so, utterly wrong...about Giyu.

For years, he’d dismissed him as distant, prideful, detached. He had once imagined spending his life with Mitsuri only for it to shatter when she had confessed to him that she wanted a small and cute omega to herself…somewhere quaint where she could raise her own family. So, he had let go of her as painful as that was and let go his dream and he had thought that he would die a bachelor that he was a man who thought himself above others.

But now…now he wasn’t so sure not after seeing the truth, after witnessing Giyu’s quiet endurance, his soft-spoken gratitude, his hesitant smiles that had begun to appear like shy sunlight… Obanai understood. Giyu’s silence wasn’t arrogance...it was insecurity, lying behind false presumptions. Obanai wanted to show just how powerful he was.

And then there was the revelation that Giyu was an omega.

That, too, had caught him off guard. He had never once stopped to wonder about it...never thought it mattered. All the Hashira were alphas, save for Shinobu, a rare beta who defied all the hierarchies of instinct and expectation. The Corps itself was not a place where softness could survive long enough to matter.

And yet, Giyu had survived…alone and has excelled at it.

The memory of him...dressed in that pale-yellow yukata, hair loose and damp from the bath, his eyes shy when he smiled...made Obanai’s throat tighten. The colour had been gentle, the kind of hue that should have looked faded under the dim light, but on Giyu, it glowed. For a moment that night, Obanai had forgotten every scar, every duty, every rigid line of discipline he’d ever clung to.

He had just stared...and realized, with something like awe and dread, that Tomioka Giyu was beautiful.

Not the kind of beauty he had once associated with Mitsuri...radiant, bright, alive...but something quieter. Fragile and untouchable, like morning light on snow.

Obanai had thought once that Mitsuri’s laughter was what he craved...the light that could banish the darkness he carried. But Giyu… Giyu was different. He didn’t burn away the dark; he soothed it…in a way that Obanai didn’t quite understand.

Because every time Giyu looked at him...with those hesitant, uncertain eyes that didn’t yet know how to trust...Obanai felt something unfamiliar stir deep within his chest. Something warm. Something dangerously close to hope.

And that frightened him more than any demon ever could.

But still when Sanemi was laying the futons he couldn’t help but stop Giyu where Sanemi couldn’t hear them and as nervous, he was, he did say it.

“Tomioka, you look beautiful in this colour.”

And he was rewarded with the prettiest blush, he felt very proud of himself. He found himself thinking of that moment whenever his past traumas threatened to overtake him. He had known for a while that his feelings toward Giyu were… shifting. What had started as mild curiosity...watching how the man moved, how he spoke so little but felt so much...had turned into something he couldn’t quite ignore. He was attracted to him. There was no sense pretending otherwise anymore.

But what was he supposed to do with that?

Giyu was still healing...physically, yes, but more than that, his heart was fragile, held together with thin threads of trust that might snap if pressed too soon. The last thing Obanai wanted was to make him retreat back into that lonely silence he’d only just begun to step out of.

And yet, the mere thought of someone else being the one to reach him first...to touch that quiet vulnerability, to make him smile...sent a violent spike of possessiveness through Obanai’s chest. It startled him. He wasn’t a man easily ruled by instinct, and yet… when it came to Giyu, control felt like sand slipping through his fingers.

He sighed, his mood souring as he walked. Even Kaburamaru noticed, poking his small, scaled head out of his haori to flick his tongue inquisitively. Obanai ignored him, much as he did whenever Giyu was in front of them.

He didn’t even realize how far he’d gone until the scent of cooking broth reached him. A small udon shop stood ahead, lanterns swaying in the cold evening breeze. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since morning. He started toward it...and then stopped.

Something in the stall beside the shop caught his eye.

A row of kumihimo braids...fine cords of silk and cotton, woven in every shade imaginable...hung fluttering gently in the wind. He stepped closer almost without thinking, his gaze drawn to the play of colours. And then he saw it: a braid of soft yellow and turquoise, woven together so perfectly that it seemed to shimmer like water touched by sunlight….the colour of his eyes and he found himself looking forward to seeing his colours on Giyu.

For a fleeting second, Obanai imagined it tied around Giyu’s hair, glinting as he bent to pour tea or brush stray strands from his face. The thought filled him with something strange and light...warmth, and longing.

“Can I see that braid?” he asked quietly, pointing to it.

The shopkeeper nodded, handing it over. Obanai ran his fingers along the silk. It was soft and smooth...too delicate for a warrior’s hands...and yet, somehow, it felt right. He nodded absently. “Please pack this one.”

But as the merchant wrapped it, doubt crept in. Would it be too much? Too personal? Would Giyu think he was trying to claim him, to mark him in some way? Obanai didn’t want that...not yet, not when Giyu was still learning to trust touch and kindness.

He hesitated, then glanced back at the display. His fingers brushed another braid, this one a deeper blue and later Obanai would blame it on his partial blindness for he had picked a braid with the colours of blue and lavender.

When he got back to the Ubuyashiki Estate, he saw Sanemi stomping out in rage. Seeing him he stopped and practically yelled in anger.

“Sanemi,” Obanai called, frowning as he quickened his pace. “What happened?”

Sanemi’s head snapped toward him, silver hair a mess, fury radiating from every tense line of his body. “That idiot,” he growled, fists clenched so tight the veins stood out along his forearms. “Tomioka left... went on a mission. Even after Oyakata-sama told him no…twice. But he insisted…so Oyakata-sama allowed him to leave to check on a rumour…”

Obanai froze. “What?” His voice came out thinner than he meant it to, disbelief scraping his throat. “But he is still not fine.”

Sanemi’s jaw flexed. “Yeah, Tomioka said he’s fine and that he has been training for weeks. I would’ve gone after him earlier, but I couldn’t Genya…” Sanemi paused, closed his eyes and continued.

“…Genya was hurt and Tomioka brought him in all bloody and messy….fuck…so many things have gone wrong in the past few days…” Sanemi ground his palm against his forehead.

For a heartbeat, Obanai couldn’t breathe. A heavy pressure settled in his chest, cold and tight, the thought of Giyu wandering alone... already half-broken and reckless... twisting something deep inside him, whatever other things that happened…things that did not concern Giyu could wait... He swallowed hard and managed,

“Wait here let me give Oyakata-sama my report first and then we’ll go.”

Sanemi opened his mouth, ready to argue, but something in Obanai’s tone made him stop. The serpent Hashira rarely spoke with such urgency. He hesitated only a second before nodding sharply.

“Fine, make it quick.”

The moment they were done, they set out... two Hashira moving like shadows through the land. They barely stopped to rest, their Kasugai crows guiding them north, their lungs burning but neither caring. Every passing hour made the unease in their stomachs worse, like an invisible thread pulling them toward something dreadful.

By the time they reached the northern villages, the sun was dipping low, casting long, twisted shadows across the snow-patched ground. The people there were quiet... too quiet. Every time they asked about the forest, doors shut a little faster, voices dropped to whispers.

It wasn’t until an old man, hunched and trembling, spoke up that they found a clue.

“A man,” he said in a brittle voice, eyes darting toward the dark line of trees in the distance. “Came two days ago. Didn’t look like your friend, but… his eyes... yes, they were blue, but they were… sad. He went into there.” The man shivered, pointing toward the forest. “Hasn’t come out, yet.”

Sanemi’s expression darkened. “That’s him.”

Obanai’s gut twisted. “We need to move. Now.”

They entered the forest at dusk, the air thick and heavy with silence. Even the birds had stopped singing. The deeper they went, the colder it grew... the light dimming though the sky hadn’t yet gone black. The smell of damp moss and decay clung to everything, and every so often, Sanemi would glance around sharply, hand on his sword, muttering,

“This place feels wrong.”

They searched for hours. The forest seemed to shift with them, paths looping back, landmarks vanishing. Only when Sanemi’s  Kasugai crow began to circle above a clearing did they finally find him.

“Tomioka!” Sanemi shouted, voice echoing through the trees.

Obanai’s eyes widened as the Water Hashira came into view... standing in clearing looking different, pale, still, his expression unreadable. Relief flooded him, but before he could call out, the ground beneath Giyu cracked open.

“Tomioka, don’t move!”

They both lunged forward, but the earth split faster than they could move. In an instant, he was gone, swallowed by darkness.

“Dammit!” Sanemi dropped to his knees, clawing at the loose soil. “Tomioka! Answer me!”

Obanai was already beside him, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He tried rope, he tried climbing down, but it felt like the way down was blocked…it was open they could still see the pale face of Giyu in the darkness but when they tried going down or throwing the rope they found out that they couldn’t it was like the forest itself was rejecting them... a pulsing, unseen force pushing them back every time they tried to descend.

The hours stretched, though neither stopped calling for him. They stayed, pacing, searching for another way, ignoring hunger and exhaustion.

When the sky finally began to lighten, a faint sound broke through the stillness... shifting earth.

Then, from the dark hole, Giyu emerged.

“Tomioka!”

They didn’t think. They ran. The moment his boots touched solid ground, both of them were on him... Sanemi crashing into him with the full force of his fear, Obanai following close behind, his arms wrapping around them both before he could stop himself.

Relief, anger, confusion... all tangled together in that desperate embrace.

It was only when they pulled back slightly, breathing hard, that they realized how tight they still held him... how neither could seem to let go.

Giyu blinked, dazed, staring between the two of them.

“You… came for me?”

Sanemi’s mouth opened, but no sound came out he was looking at Giyu like he was a fool. Obanai, still catching his breath, said quietly,

“Of course we did.”

Obanai pulled back just enough to look at him properly, still breathing hard. Giyu looked fine…dirty but fine it was then he noticed. Giyu looked… different. Not just tired, shaken or dirty from whatever had happened here in the forest but...different.

The first thing he noticed was the hair. It was cropped short now, the dark strands barely brushing his jaw. The right side was clipped so close he could see the faint lines of the scratch that had taken it off. Not a wound...hair clipped by what looked like claws. And despite his worry his attention snagged on the clear view of the beautiful expanse of Giyu’s pale neck; it was startlingly delicate in the pale dawn light.

Obanai’s gaze lingered there longer than he meant it to, the sight evoking feelings in him that he did not want express, openly…yet. Giyu’s long hair had always been a quiet, familiar thing...soft, untamed, falling over his eyes when he was too lost in thought to notice.

Now, looking at Giyu with his hair shorn short, Obanai’s stomach twisted in disappointment. So much for his braids…

And yet… gods, he looked good, despite the dirt tracks on his pale cheeks…he looked good…so good. The sharpness of his jaw was more pronounced now, his eyes caught the sunrise like water catching light clear, fragile, beautiful.

The second thing he noticed was the haori…Giyu was no longer wearing the old mismatched haori, but a new one…dark blue. This one… suited him. It made him look less like a man drowning in ghosts and more like the Hashira he truly was.

Obanai felt a heat crawl up the back of his neck and try as he might he couldn’t look away. Beside him, Sanemi was still scolding Giyu, half-relieved and half furious.

“What the hell were you thinking, you are still not well?” Sanemi snapped, voice rough. “If you wanted to go on a mission so badly, you could have waited for us. You coul…”

“No!”

The shout cut through the forest like a blade. Both Sanemi and Obanai froze, stunned. Giyu never yelled at this volume…ever, and that was saying something with the amount of arguing that he and Sanemi did.

“No…” Giyu’s chest rose and fell sharply. He took a long breath before speaking again, voice quieter but trembling at the edges. “I couldn’t stay in the Water Estate anymore. It was starting to feel more like a prison. I begged Oyakata-sama to send me… I had to go.”

Sanemi’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean, you had to?”

“I hated staying there alone,” Giyu admitted, his voice raw. He waved a hand weakly toward the two of them. “Not after… you both left.”

The silence that followed was heavy, uneasy. Giyu’s eyes were distant now, fixed on something they couldn’t see. “So, I decided to start taking on missions again. The sooner the better. I have to get used to being alone again.” His voice cracked on the last word.

Sanemi’s jaw tightened. “Why the hell would you be alone? We’re still here, aren’t we?”

Giyu blinked at him, confused. “But why would you waste your time on me?”

That made both of them go still...completely still. The words hit something deep and unguarded. Before either could reply, Giyu’s spine straightened his head suddenly snapped toward the treeline, eyes widening in shock, his entire body tense.

“Tomioka?” Obanai called carefully.

Giyu didn’t answer. He pulled himself to his feet, shaky but alert. The moment his boots cleared the strange stairway behind him, the ground sealed itself shut...smooth ground like its surroundings where there’d been a gaping hole seconds ago. Giyu tried to walk to the small trail in the trees, but before he could his Kasugai flew from there and the trail closed too same as the hole in the ground…like it wasn’t ever there.

“What the...” Sanemi started, but Giyu moved before he could finish. He turned sharply, clapped a hand over Sanemi’s mouth, his expression unusually urgent.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t say anything...anything bad…”

The forest was utterly silent. Even the air seemed to hold its breath. Obanai and Sanemi exchanged a bewildered look as Giyu slowly turned toward the trees again. Then, without a word, he dropped to his knees and bowed low...forehead pressed to the damp earth in deep, wordless reverence.

Obanai’s throat went dry. He didn’t understand what he was witnessing.

When Giyu rose, he was clutching something small...a wooden box, dark with age…had he always been holding that? His expression was unreadable, distant yet oddly calm.

Obanai wanted to demand answers right then. He wanted to know everything: what had happened down there, why the ground had swallowed him, what this box was, and why the forest itself had seemed to move at his will. But this wasn’t the place. Not here, not in this cursed wood that seemed to breathe around them.

“We’ll talk later,” Obanai said finally, his voice steadier than he felt. “Right now, we need to get out of this forest before it gets dark again.”

Giyu looked at him then...and for the briefest moment, the shadows that always haunted his eyes were gone. Just for a heartbeat, they were clear, deep, and heartbreakingly alive. Then it was gone, replaced by the same quiet emptiness as always.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Let’s leave. There are no demons here, but…” He trailed off, glancing toward the trees as if listening to something unseen.

“But?” Sanemi pressed.

Giyu hesitated. “I can’t find the way out. Kanzaburo is old. He is not able to guide me out of here.”

The crow squawked indignantly from a Giyu’s shoulder, feathers puffed, but none of them paid him any mind.

Sanemi exhaled sharply, calling his own Kasugai. “Sorai will find the way.”

Obanai nodded quietly, glancing once more at Giyu...at the short hair, the pale neck, the box in his hands. Something about the air still hummed faintly around him, like the forest itself hadn’t quite let go.

By the time they emerged from the forest’s suffocating depths, the sky had already begun to darken into bruised shades of purple and indigo. The heavy, choking stillness that had clung to them for two days finally lifted...like the forest itself had released its grip. The sound of night birds returned, and even the whisper of wind through leaves felt like a blessing.

No one spoke. They didn’t pause to talk to the villagers who peered warily from behind shuttered doors, their eyes wide with a fear older than memory. Obanai caught snatches of hushed murmurs...“the forest took him in,” “he shouldn’t have come back”...but Giyu kept walking, his expression unreadable, the wooden box still clutched tightly in his hand.

They reached the next town within an hour, Giyu’s suggestion of continuing to Water estate was vetoed quite aggressively in fact. Sanemi and Obanai didn’t listen to Giyu when he stumbled slightly on the cobbled path. They found a small inn near the outskirts...a modest place that didn’t ask questions. Took two rooms for propriety’s but stayed in one which made Giyu stare at them quite balefully, the two alpha were getting quite good at ignoring Giyu when his protection and his health was at his stake.

Obanai checked on Giyu’s shoulder when he winced, ignoring all his protests that he was all right Obanai insisted on getting it checked which turned to be only a bruise, dark and purple. Giyu would be sore for a couple of days but nothing bad. Sanemi fetched food, though he barely ate himself, watching instead as Giyu ravenously eat the food, it looked like he was starved.

Though Giyu was exhausted, he didn’t give in. He recounted everything that had happened in the forest, and when he finished, he waited…for judgment, for laughter…but neither came. Instead, there was disbelief at his words, yet also trust that he wasn’t lying. Their eyes lingered on the box when Giyu mentioned that among its contents, something belonged to Muzan.

“If it had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have believed a damn word,” Sanemi muttered at last, breaking the silence.

“Why?” Giyu asked, genuinely puzzled.

Sanemi blinked. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Obanai let out a quiet chuckle, his mismatched eyes softening. “Because you don’t make things up, Tomioka, or do you?”

“What? No, of course I don’t.”

“Exactly, everyone knows that and also we did notice the strange closing of the hole or the trail. Whatever it was only you were meant to find it.” Obanai leaned forward slightly, amusement flickering across his face.

“Oh.”

“Yes… oh,” Obanai echoed, unable to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips, behind his bandages and like every time Giyu thought about Obanai, he wondered just how bad his scar was and if he would…he shook his head, now was not the time.

When Sanemi had moved to touch the box, Giyu pulled it towards him strangely possessive, and which had surprised him too.

“I am s-sorry, I d-don’t know why I did that.” Giyu stuttered.

“It is fine, I don’t think we should open it here anyways.” Obanai said with a small sigh, Giyu nodded his head relieved, he was then ordered to go to bed and Giyu did not have the strength to argue. The minute his head hit the pillow he was out like a light, exhaustion finally taking over.

That night, Sanemi and Obanai took turns watching over Giyu who thankfully slept deeply. Sanemi tried to touch his hair but stopped himself every time. Every creak of the wood, every gust of wind against the shutters made them think of the forest again...of how it had seemed alive, aware, hungry.

By morning, they agreed without words that they would not go straight to Oyakata-sama. Not yet. Whatever had happened in that forest needed to be understood before it was reported. They took the road south, toward the Water Estate...but even before the familiar gate came into view, they heard it.

Voices came from inside the Water estate…loud voices.

“Giyu-san is not here; we should leave Tanjiro.”

“It is okay, Giyu-san won’t mind…INOUSUKE what are you doing.” And then a loud crash was heard.

Giyu froze, his eyes wide, he stopped Sanemi and Obanai before they could enter and whispered hurriedly.

“Let us go somewhere else I need to make sense of what happened back there.”

“Not going to see you favourite siblings Tomioka.” Sanemi couldn’t help but jab at him. Giyu rolled his eyes and looked at Obanai for help and with that single look Sanemi was instantly jealous a look that made Obanai immensely pleased.

“Come to my estate,” Obanai said hiding the pleased smirk behind his bandages which wasn’t missed by Sanemi.

“It’s the closest one.”

Chapter Text

They travelled mostly in silence. The air was colder now, the bite of winter sharp in their lungs. When they reached Obanai’s estate. The air was cool here...crisp and faintly scented with pine and clean earth. It felt contained, as if even the wind hesitated before disturbing the stillness.

Inside, the estate reflected Obanai himself: austere but quietly comforting. The floors gleamed faintly from recent polishing, and the tatami mats bore no creases or stains. Along the hallways, calligraphy scrolls hung at even intervals, the ink strokes precise and elegant...discipline given form. Candles burned in low iron holders, casting steady pools of warm light rather than the flicker of flame.

Obanai, called for Yuan as soon they entered the estate. The crow came fluttering in, perched on Obanai’s hand and Obanai whispered some words in the crow’s ears, and it took off. Sanemi and Giyu didn’t question it and soon they were settled around the low table...

Sanemi sprawled with his arms crossed, Obanai sitting with perfect stillness, and Giyu, stared into the flickering light. Tea steaming from the cups that Obanai had placed on the table, Giyu took a tentative sip and felt warmth reach his toes, he sighed as the cold dissipated. Sanemi waited patiently for Giyu to open the box or start talking about anything, but he was left waiting. Impatient Sanemi exhaled sharply.

“Can we go back to what you were talking about before we left that cursed forest?” The sentence had pinched him the entire way back

Giyu tilted his head. “About what?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Sanemi shot back, crossing his arms.

Colour drained from Giyu’s face; his fingers tightened around the hem of his haori.

“No…”

“You don’t?” Sanemi asked, sceptical.

“I do…” Giyu sighed heavily, after a moment his shoulders slumping. “I do know what you mean. But… can we talk about it later? Please?”

Obanai’s tone softened and before Sanemi could respond. “I don’t know about Sanemi, but I don’t mind waiting. Just know this, Tomioka...if you think I’ll let you shut yourself away again or decide you’re better off alone… that’s not going to happen. I promise you that, I am not going to leave you and that is a promise, and I don’t make promises lightly.”

Giyu stared at him his huge eyes wide in wonder and Sanemi glared at him, jaw tightening.

“Huh?!” He looked like he wanted to kick Obanai, but one glance at Giyu stopped him who was looking at Obanai like he was a drop from heaven…yeah, he couldn’t have Obanai beat him. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck instead…but this is difficult…he whined internally.

“I also don’t have a problem waiting, but you’d better know this too...I’m not leaving you alone either. I’ve gotten used to the Water Estate. It’s not half bad now that I’ve fixed it up.”

He gave Giyu a sideways smirk, voice softening.

“Also… thank you for saving Genya.”

Giyu blinked. “How is he?”

“He is fine, woke up before I left to find you only to see the Water Estate locked and Oyakata-sama informing me that you begged to be back on the roster…just two months after you nearly died.” His voice grew rough again. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Giyu looked down, guilt flickering across his face. When he didn’t answer, Sanemi let it go for now but not completely.

“What happened to your hair?” he asked suddenly.

“Oh.” Giyu’s hand lifted to the short strands, fingers brushing the clipped edge at his right temple.

“It got cut in a fight with a demon.”

“I thought you said there weren’t any demons in the Northern Forest,” Obanai said, tilting his head.

“There weren’t,” Giyu admitted. “This was before that. I found Genya injured, and the demon that attacked him had already killed another slayer. After that… I took Genya to the Butterfly Estate, handed him over and then, I left again.”

Obanai and Sanemi exchanged a look...half concern, half frustration...but before either could question him further, a knock came at the door.

“Hebi Bashira?” a voice called.

Obanai rose smoothly to his feet. “Stay here,” he said, gesturing for them not to move before sliding open the door.

The moment he left, Sanemi turned to Giyu, expression serious.

“I saw you that day, when you brought Genya in.” he said.

“What?” Giyu’s head snapped up, eyes wide.

“I saw you… and heard you and Kocho talking.” Sanemi continued.

Giyu’s lips parted in alarm, but Sanemi raised a hand to stop him.

“Before you say anything, I need you to know something.” His voice faltered, then steadied again. “I don’t blame you for Kanae’s death…nor would I have preferred you dead too…” Sanemi said not meeting Giyu’s eyes it was too embarrassing for that.

Giyu froze, his throat bobbed, eyes darkening with something like disbelief.

“You don’t blame me?” He asked in a small voice and something like guilt pricked at Sanemi. Sanemi shook his head slowly.

“I did, once…but not anymore.” His voice was low; the words pulled from somewhere deep. “When I saw you fall in that forest… when I thought I’d lost you...” He broke off, eyes narrowing as if angry at his own emotion. “I realized it wasn’t because you were a comrade. It’s because…”

He stopped himself before the words I care about you could slip out, and instead said, finally looking at Giyu, hoping that he would understand what he actually wanted to say.

“Because I didn’t want to lose you too.”

Giyu blinked, as if trying to decipher a language he didn’t speak.

“Did you… do you still love her?” he asked softly.

“A part of me does. I think a part always will. But the larger part…” Sanemi said after a while. “…It’s moved on.”

Giyu only nodded, clearly did not understand the full meaning. Sanemi smiled faintly to himself...he’d have to spell it out later.

When the idiot is ready to listen.

“I thought you and Kocho were on good terms, so why did she…” Sanemi trailed off.

“Why did she say all that?” Giyu completed the sentence, looking weary now, Sanemi nodded.

“We are on good terms, I regard her as my friend, but she hasn’t been happy with for a long time now…not since she learned I hid the fact that I saved Nezuko from her. She sees it as a slight against our friendship for not trusting her enough. So, she is lashing out, saying all the cruel words even though I know she doesn’t mean them.” Giyu explained. Sanemi realized that Giyu talked now so much more than before, all he had to do was ask and Giyu would say everything on his mind or maybe everything he deemed it was necessary to tell.

“That doesn’t make it okay.” Sanemi scowled.

“I know it doesn’t…but it is okay I am used to people disliking me for no reason.” Giyu said looking intently at Sanemi. And all Sanemi could do was gape…

The petty bastard…

A quiet knock at the door interrupted Sanemi from snapping anything back. Two Kakushi entered, setting trays of food on the table and clearing away the tea.

“I asked for dinner to be brought in,” Obanai said as he returned, closing the door behind him. “I’ve also sent Yuan to Oyakata-sama to let him know we’re safe. We’ll go see him in the morning.”

After dinner, Giyu had quietly unclasped the small wooden box from his shoulder and set it on the low table before them. For a moment, he just stared at it...hesitant, as though opening it might change something irreversible. Then, with a faint nod to the others, he lifted the lid.

Sanemi and Obanai both leaned forward, expecting perhaps a few scrolls or talismans...certainly not this.

Their eyes widened as book after book slid out of the box, followed by sealed scrolls, old journals, and several tiny chests, each carved with intricate markings. The sheer volume of it defied logic; the box had looked so small in Giyu’s hands, yet it held enough to fill an entire study.

“…That’s not possible,” Sanemi muttered, glancing between the box and the growing pile.

“Clearly, it is,” Obanai said dryly, though his tone betrayed unease.

Giyu didn’t answer. His attention had already drifted to one chest...a plain one, darker than the rest, its lid engraved with four neat kanji. He lifted it reverently, brushing his thumb across the name.

Kibutsuji Muzan.

The air in the room shifted. Even the faint wind outside seemed to still.

“I want to read the books first,” Giyu said quietly. “Then we can open the chests. Or… maybe we should only open them in front of Oyakata-sama.”

Sanemi frowned, considering it. “Yeah, let’s leave the chests for now. We read the books...at least we’ll know what you’ve found.”

Giyu blinked, surprised. “You’re agreeing with me?”

“Yeah, you bastard, I’m not as disagreeable as I look.” Sanemi shot back automatically, with a frown, “Feel better now?”

“Yeah,” Giyu said with his usual detached voice. “Much better now that you’re back to insulting me.”

Obanai let out a slow breath and stared up at the ceiling, pinching the bridge of his nose.

‘Is this what my life is going to be? Babysitting two emotionally stunted men?’

But then realized that he liked it their snapping at each other brought Giyu out of his shell and maybe this was Sanemi’s way to help Giyu.

Obanai shook his head as he pulled one of the books toward himself. Seeing him open it, the other two followed suit, and for a while, the room was filled only with the sound of turning pages.

The book Giyu had chosen was thin, its cover worn but intact. The handwriting inside was delicate and looping...almost beautiful. As he read, his eyes widened, his fingers trembling slightly as he turned the pages faster.

“It’s a diary,” he murmured.

The entries chronicled a man’s descent into obsession...notes about blood, medicine, life, and death. And then, near the end, words that made Giyu’s breath catch.

“I have failed to cure him. My father’s treatment Kibutsuji did not see its completion. He killed father in a fit of rage…he dares…kill his benefactor…heavens will surely never forgive him.”

 “I can no longer bear the sight of what Kibutsuji has become. But I believe...if the balance can be inverted, if corruption is forced to burn itself clean...then perhaps… even he can face the consequences of his sins. Hell is waiting for Kibutsuji.”

Giyu’s heart pounded. His eyes darted to the final page, where a detailed formula was written, untouched by time. He pulled another book and then another book all had the said the same thing…He raised his head in shock and froze when he saw his expression mirror on them.

Obanai and Sanemi were staring back at him, both pale, both clutching their books as if afraid to breathe.

“I think…” Giyu began, voice barely above a whisper, “we found a way to cure Muzan.”

Obanai swallowed, his usual composure faltering. “Yeah… I think so too.”

Sanemi exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Me three. But...shit...if this is real…” He trailed off, the weight of the discovery pressing down on them all.

“You think it’s true?” Obanai asked finally. His voice was hushed, reverent in a way Giyu had never heard before.

“I do,” Giyu said, his tone trembling between disbelief and certainty. “The way I found it...it was…”

“Like it was meant to happen?” Sanemi finished quietly.

Giyu nodded. The faintest shiver ran through him in awe and reverance.

When he looked up again, the first pale blush of dawn was touching the horizon through the shoji screens. He blinked, realizing suddenly that the entire night had passed in the space of a heartbeat.

“Let’s go,” he said, rising to his feet. His voice was steady now, certain. “We shouldn’t delay. Oyakata-sama needs to see this immediately.”

Neither of the others argued.

For once, Obanai didn’t tease. For once, Sanemi didn’t curse. They simply rose with him. Gathered all the things back into the box the three Hashira moving in quiet unison, bound by the weight of what they had just uncovered.

The morning mist still clung to the stone path when they reached the Ubuyashiki Estate. The world was hushed ... the kind of silence that came just before dawn truly broke. A faint wind stirred the dew from the hydrangea bushes lining the walkway, carrying the faint scent of earth and wet petals.

Giyu’s steps were steady, the wooden box tucked securely beneath his arm. Sanemi walked on his right; his usual swagger muted into a kind of wary alertness. Obanai was on his left, his pale eyes unreadable behind the curtain of his bandages.

When they entered the courtyard, Oyakata-sama was already waiting, seated beneath the old wisteria tree. His frail frame seemed to melt into the pale light, but his smile was as warm as ever. Beside him stood Amane-san and two of his children, silent sentinels in white.

“Giyu,” Oyakata-sama greeted softly, his voice as calm as a breeze. “Sanemi. Obanai. It’s rare to see the three of you together so early.”

The three Hashira knelt in unison, foreheads nearly brushing the tatami.
Giyu set the small, lacquered box before him, palms pressed together in a formal bow.

“Oyakata-sama,” he began, his tone uncharacteristically taut with urgency, but before he could say anything Oyakata-sama’s calm gaze shifted toward him.

“I thought it was only you who was supposed to travel there, Giyu?”

“I did go alone,” Giyu replied, lowering his head further. “But Shinazugawa and Iguro found me. I would have still been lost in the forest if not for them.”

“Thank you, Sanemi, Obanai,” Oyakata-sama said gently. “But next time, please inform me beforehand. Your brother was quite worried, Sanemi.”

The words held no reprimand, only kindness...which somehow made both men bow deeper in guilt.

“Our apologies, Oyakata-sama,” they said together.

“Raise your heads,” he said. “Tell me what you found.”

Giyu hesitated for only a moment before lifting the lid of the box. He drew out the books, the old scrolls, the impossible number of chests...the same things that had defied logic in Obanai’s home the night before. The faint wisteria-scented air filled with the dry rustle of paper and old leather.

“I found these in a hidden chamber underground,” Giyu said, voice steadying as he spoke. “I was led there, I believe, by Mizuhanome-no-Mikoto Kami.” He paused, then went on to describe what had happened in the forest.

“I didn’t want to come to you without understanding it first,” he finished. “So last night we read the books. But it didn’t feel right to open the chests.”

“And what did you find in the books?” Oyakata-sama asked, serene as ever, his hands resting lightly in his lap.

“A record,” Obanai said quietly. “Most of them are diaries. They mention attempts to reverse demonification. There’s… a formula written at the end. We’re not alchemists, so we can’t tell if it’s complete.”

Oyakata-sama tilted his head slightly. “A cure?”

“Maybe,” Giyu replied, his fingers tightening around the book he still held. “The writer was the son of a doctor who once treated Muzan...Akihira. He believed that if administered to any demon, the medicine would turn them human again. But within an hour, the body would die.”

A silence fell...deep, reverent. The faint rustle of wisteria outside was the only sound.

“Then she has not abandoned us,” he said softly. “Mizuhanome-no-Mikoto was once known as the goddess of purification...of cleansing water that restores balance. It seems she still takes pity on this world. A merciful end,” Oyakata-sama murmured at last.

“One that Muzan himself would never have allowed for others. How poetic that the same path that birthed him might now may undo him.”

Sanemi’s rough voice broke the stillness. “Oyakata-sama… you think this is real?”

“I am inclined to,” he said softly. “Muzan was once a sickly child, and a doctor...his name now lost...was brought to heal him. But Muzan killed the man before the treatment was complete.” He paused, eyes half-lidded.

“This knowledge… it could finish what that doctor began.”

The air grew heavy with the enormity of it. The thought that this could end centuries of suffering hung between them like a fragile promise.

“If this thing works,” Sanemi said, his tone hushed now, “we could finally end him. No remains, no regeneration.”

Oyakata-sama inclined his head, a faint smile ghosting over his lips.

“Perhaps but it won’t be without bloodshed and sacrifice. But remember...the knowledge you found, Giyu, is a weapon. Even more potent than a blade. It must be handled carefully. I will summon the person best suited for that.”

“Kocho?” Giyu asked quietly.

“Hmm…” was all Oyakata-sama said, his knowing hum but didn’t say anything.

Giyu didn’t press. He closed the books carefully, returning each to the box before sliding it toward his master. Oyakata-sama’s frail hand brushed the lid...reverent, almost tender.

“Amane,” he said softly, “send word to the other Hashira. Call everyone here by tomorrow.”

Weak sunlight filtered through the wisteria leaves, glinting off the lacquered surface of the box. Sanemi’s gaze lingered on it, his jaw tight, the weight of hope pressing against his chest.

“You’ve done well,” Oyakata-sama said at last, his tone as soft as a prayer. “All of you. I can feel the burden you carry...not just discovery, but responsibilty. What you found is not only a means to destroy a monster… it is mercy itself.”

Giyu bowed low. “It was Kami who helped us.”

“Yes,” Oyakata-sama said, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “She has not forsaken us. For now, rest. Come back tomorrow, my children.”

The three bowed deeply and rose as one...but Amane called making them pause.

“Giyu,” she said softly, “a word.”

Giyu froze. To Sanemi and Obanai’s surprise, his eyes darted away, guilt flashing across his face like a child caught in mischief.

“Amane-san… I…I’m tired,” he murmured. “May I be excused…”

“No, Giyu. You will follow me now.” Her tone was gentle, but unyielding.

Giyu winced. His shoulders slumped, and with the obedience of someone used to scolding, he followed her inside. Sanemi and Obanai exchanged looks...concern mirrored in both...then turned toward Oyakata-sama again.

“I see you two have let go of your dislike for Giyu?” The question was mild, but the faint humour in his tone made both men flush.

“Y-Yes, Oyakata-sama,” Obanai answered quietly.

“I am glad,” he said, smiling faintly. “Hinaki, help me up.”

The dismissal clear enough and they did not get to voice their concern for Giyu They bowed again and retreated toward the gates, the silence stretching between them. Then, with his usual lack of preamble, Sanemi spoke.

“I like Tomioka,” he said bluntly, voice low but unwavering. “And I intend to court him.”

Obanai froze mid-step. His mismatched eyes turned toward Sanemi, narrowing…not with surprise, but with irritation edged by resignation.

“So do I.”

They stared at each other, the air tightening between them like a drawn bowstring. Not anger...not yet...but something dangerously close to it. Two predators, aware of each other, unwilling to draw blood just yet.

Sanemi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’re we gonna do about it then? I don’t wanna fight you over him.” His voice was quieter now...almost reluctant. “You’re my friend and I’d be a little upset to lose you as a friend.”

Obanai rolled his eyes at Sanemi and did not answer the idiot. He studied him for a long moment, his tone even when he spoke.

“As much as I want Tomioka for myself,” he admitted, “I won’t fight you. You’ve steadied him in ways I never could. And if he’s willing to have both of us…” He shrugged lightly.

“Then I see no reason to compete. Courting Tomioka will already be difficult enough.”

Sanemi blinked, then huffed a small, surprised laugh. “You always were the reasonable one.”

“Someone has to be,” Obanai murmured. “You’d sooner break down a door than knock.”

That earned him a snort. Sanemi’s grin softened. “I agree, though, courting Giyu is gonna be difficult enough…he is painfully oblivious. But then again…” He shrugged. “When’s anything ever been easy for us?”

Silence settled again, warmer this time. The faint sound of the wind through the bamboo filled the quiet between them.

“Then it’s settled,” Obanai said finally. “No fighting. We’ll wait and see who Tomioka chooses. Or if… he chooses both.”

Sanemi smirked. “You sure you can share?”

Obanai’s eyes glinted faintly, amusement flickering in the mismatched gold and green.

“You’d be surprised what I can do when I want something badly enough. And subtlety isn’t going to work on him; he is too oblivious and stubborn for that.”

Sanemi chuckled, the sound low and rough. “Yeah, you’re right. So, we hammer our way in?”

“Yes,” Obanai said, a quiet laugh escaping him. “We hammer our way into Tomioka’s heart…gently but.”

Chapter Text

Zenitsu and Inosuke were standing in a corner like two scolded children, their faces to the wall when Giyu entered the common room. Tanjiro was kneeling nearby, diligently scrubbing muddy footprints off the wooden floor...footprints that trailed straight from the doorway to where the two culprits stood sulking.

For a moment, Giyu could sympathize. He’d just been on the receiving end of one of Amane-san’s quiet lectures...a fate, he decided, far more harrowing than fighting any demon. He could still hear her soft, devastating words echoing in his head:

“I gave you the hanten to wear, Giyu, not to keep your satchel warm.”

He had held the garment up as proof he’d carried it with him, only to be met with that patient, unblinking stare that made him feel about five years old. Even now, he could feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

Sanemi and Obanai had asked what Amane wanted with him afterward, but the sheer mortification of explaining that he’d been scolded for not dressing warmly enough had kept his mouth firmly shut. Thankfully, they’d dropped the subject...though from their faint smirks, he knew they hadn’t forgotten.

Now, standing in the doorway of the Water Estate, Giyu thought grimly that the chaos before him made Amane’s rebuke seem merciful.

“Tanjiro,” Giyu said flatly. Tanjiro’s head snapped up, eyes lighting up.

“GIYU-SAN…” he yelled brightly, loud enough to rattle the windows.

Giyu flinched. “Inside voice, Tanjiro.”

Tanjiro’s grin faltered. “Ah…sorry, Giyu-san!” He awkwardly shifted his weight on his crutch and tried to bow, nearly losing balance. Giyu sighed and rubbed his temple.

“Tanjiro…why are Zenitsu and Inosuke being punished.”

“Giyu-san how can he punish me I am older than him?”

“They dirtied the floor Giyu-san.”

“WHAT ARE YOU WAERING HANHAN BAORI?”

“You could have told me, and I would have cleaned it?”

“Why should I do that? Do I look like you mother?”

“My mother was beautiful.”

“What does that mean Zenitsu?”

“HANHAN BAORI, DO YOU HAVE TEMPURA? I’M HUNGRY!” Inosuke bellowed, trying to tug his satchel off him. “KOMABACKO SAID NO FOOD FOR US!”

At the door, Sanemi leaned toward Obanai, his expression unreadable. “Did we just walk into the wrong estate?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Obanai murmured, deadpan. “I think so. Though… they do remind me of you and Tomioka.”

Giyu’s eye twitched. He turned his head slowly to glare at them. Sanemi only smirked; Obanai looked serenely unbothered.

And then Giyu whistled...a sharp, piercing sound that sliced clean through the cacophony. It echoed off the walls, and every voice died mid-sentence.

Zenitsu immediately dropped to the floor, clutching his ears. Tanjiro froze, shoulders rigid. Inosuke who was suddenly behind Tanjiro peeked out from his shoulder clutching his haori, eyes wide and wary, his earlier bravado replaced with the sheepishness of a caught child. And as adorable as it was Giyu would not soften his heart.

Giyu surveyed them in silence. This, he thought grimly, is exactly why I didn’t come in yesterday.

“What,” he began, tone utterly flat, “did I say about fighting in front of me?”

No one answered. Behind him, Sanemi and Obanai quietly moved to sit against the wall, their expressions schooled into polite neutrality...but their eyes glimmered with barely contained amusement. Giyu ignored them. Children, he thought bitterly. All of them.

“I’m waiting,” he said again, voice a shade colder.

Zenitsu wilted instantly, chin wobbling. “T-To not do it in front of you…” he mumbled, voice trembling.

Giyu crossed his arms. “And yet here we are.”

Tanjiro looked up with an apologetic smile. “We’ll clean everything up, Giyu-san I promise.”

Inosuke puffed his chest. “I’ll clean too! I’ll clean better than everyone!”

Zenitsu immediately snapped, “You don’t even know how to clean!”

“I’ll clean you, sparrow-boy!”

“Enough.” Giyu’s voice cracked like thunder.

Silence descended again.

Behind him, Sanemi muffled a laugh into his sleeve, while Obanai, ever calm, murmured, “And here I thought I had trouble keeping my subordinates in line.”

Giyu shot him a look that could have frozen lava. “Do not start.” Obanai heterochromatic eyes curved slightly...a quiet, infuriating smile. And for the first time that morning, Giyu wondered...with all sincerity...if this was Mizuhanome kami’s idea of divine balance.

Once the chaos died down, Giyu settled the trio. Though Zenitsu was sulking with his head down, Inosuke was distracted by the broom he’d declared his “cleaning sword,” and Tanjiro was quietly trying to keep the peace as always.

Sanemi and Obanai hadn’t moved from their spots against the wall. They watched in silence...Sanemi with an amused smirk tugging at his mouth, Obanai with that unnervingly steady gaze that said he was quietly cataloguing every detail.

Giyu ignored them both.

“Zenitsu, wipe the shelves. Inosuke, sweep the rest of the mud. Tanjiro, keep an eye on them.” He gave the orders calmly, his tone the same one he used during missions...quiet, clipped, and oddly effective.

It worked, within ten minutes, the room was spotless, save for Zenitsu’s exaggerated sighs and Inosuke’s ongoing debate about whether brooms should have names. And Giyu without a word, started on lunch.

“Ah, Giyu-san, let me help!” Tanjiro offered immediately, hobbling after him.

Zenitsu and Inosuke followed, like overgrown ducklings. Sanemi murmured something to Obanai about ‘housewife instincts,’ and Obanai’s eyes glinted with amusement. Giyu’s shoulders tensed, but he said nothing.

It didn’t take long before the scent of food filled the room...a simple donburi. When they finally sat down to eat, Zenitsu took his bite he blinked in surprise.

“Wait… this actually tastes good,” he said in disbelief. “Giyu-san, your cooking’s improved so much! Remember the first time you tried? You nearly, poisoned us.”

Tanjiro chuckled, “Yes the food was black, how did you think it was edible is still a mystery to me?”

Giyu froze …the air tightened imperceptibly around him. There was a spike of pain...sharp, fleeting, and silent...that lanced through Giyu’s chest at the reminder of why he’d started learning to cook. The months he’d spent learning, trying to make himself a useful omega…only for it to be a waste.

“Eat before it gets cold,” he said quietly, his voice giving nothing away.

The children were oblivious to the change in the atmosphere but Sanemi and Obanai had paused, their expression suddenly grim but thankfully they did not say anything or look at him and for that Giyu was grateful.

The rest of the meal passed in comfortable quiet. Zenitsu, predictably, was the first to start crying about how delicious it was. Inosuke yelled asking if he would cook for him again which Giyu promised him that he would. Tanjiro laughed softly, his eyes warm despite the bandages. When they were done, Giyu stood, wiping his hands on a cloth.

“You three should head to the Butterfly Estate,” he said, tone leaving no room for argument. “Don’t come back until you’re completely healed.” Zenitsu opened his mouth to protest but froze when Giyu gave him a single, level look.

“Yes, Giyu-san!” he squeaked immediately. Inosuke grumbled but obeyed, and Tanjiro bowed politely, his usual earnestness softening the air.

“Thank you for the food, Giyu-san. We’ll see you soon I’ll bring Nezuko when she wakes up...”

When they left, the silence that filled the estate was oddly heavy...not unpleasant, just… quiet.

Giyu exhaled slowly, revelling in the peaceful quiet and let out a relived sigh. He turned toward the corridor, intent on taking a bath and washing away the fatigue clinging to him like smoke.

Sanemi and Obanai were still there, seated cross-legged, watching him with strange, unreadable expressions.

“…What?” Giyu asked, already regretting it.

Sanemi arched a brow. “Since when do you, playhouse with brats?”

Giyu blinked at him once. “Since when do you not mind your own business?”

“Since now Tomioka, you have a problem.” Sanemi replied with a smirk which Giyu found very irritating but before it could evolve into an argument Obanai interrupted them.

“Apparently he has taken in the Kamado siblings, I didn’t know they came in with extra attachments,” he revealed.

“I’m leaving,” Giyu said flatly, already turning away.

Sanemi chuckled. “Go on then, mother.”

Obanai murmured, “I didn’t know domesticity suited you so well.”

…meddling…nosy…jerks…

Giyu didn’t dignify either with a response. He simply walked toward the bathhouse, each step slow and steady...the sound of his geta fading into the quiet halls.

When the door slid shut behind him, the scent of soap and steam replaced the lingering smell of food, and for the first time that day, Giyu allowed himself a moment to simply breathe…fucking hell…

A loud knock woke Giyu up he had dozed off in the bath.

“Tomioka you okay, you’ve been in there for a long time.” Sanemi’s gruff voice came in.

Giyu blinked his eyes trying to clear the cobwebs. Sanemi knocked again now a little frantic.

“Tomioka…?”

“Ye…yes, I am okay, I’ll be out soon.” Giyu answered, he shivered, the water had turned cold and a voice that sounded just like Amane-san scolded him.

‘Don't let yourself get cold Giyu…it is not good for your health…’

Giyu got out, emptied the bath, craving the comfort of the familiar, Giyu pulled on an old, soft yukata, the faded blue fabric feeling soft and familiar on him and breathed in relief. All he wanted was to fall into his futon and sleep for a very, very long time.

He padded quietly into the common room, intending only to tell the Sanemi and Obanai that he was retiring. But the room was warm, lit solely by the orange glow of the brazier, relaxed and inviting. The dancing flames cast long, shifting shadows that sculpted Sanemi’s sharp jaw and accentuated Obanai’s serpent-like stillness. The moment he entered, he felt the weight of their attention...two sets of eyes, steady and unrelenting, fixing on him.

“Sit, Tomioka.” Sanemi’s voice was a low murmur, so unlike his usual bark that Giyu blinked, his plans forgotten, and found himself sinking to the floor without protest. Scarred, calloused hands, gently placed a cup of hot tea into his. He took a sip, the liquid warming him straight to his bones.

He was used to being watched in silence. He was accustomed to judgment, to dismissal, to being merely tolerated. But this… this was different. There was no sharp edge to their gaze. If anything, its softness unsettled him more, because it felt like they cared. The weight of it was a tangible thing, pressing in on him and he couldn’t bear it anymore.

“Why are you both staring?” he asked, his tone flat, a practiced calm that belied the quickening of his pulse.

“Are we staring, Obanai?” Sanemi asked, his lavender eyes never leaving Giyu, making his skin prickle with a restless heat.

“Hmm, I don’t think so, Sanemi…” Obanai whispered, his voice a husky rasp, Giyu would be lying if he said if he did not like the low intimate tenor of Obanai’s voice.

‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’

Whatever game they were playing, Giyu was too tired for it. Yet, his heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat under the intensity of their focus. The familiar irritation he felt at their worry, the sarcasm he reserved for their sudden care, all of it melted away in the face of the rare, unsettling honesty in their eyes.

Obanai moved first. He leaned forward, his movement fluid, and reached out to adjust the edge of Giyu’s yukata where it had slipped from his shoulder. His fingers barely brushed the skin, the contact fleeting, but it was enough to make Giyu’s breath catch in his throat.

“Just fixing your yukata,” Obanai explained, his tone deceptively innocent.

And what am I supposed to say to that? Giyu’s mind went blank. A simple thank you felt entirely inadequate for the jolt the touch had sent through him.

Then Sanemi stood up and closed the distance. He didn't stop until he was standing directly behind Giyu, so close that the heat from his body was a palpable presence against Giyu’s back. Giyu spine went taut with tension, every nerve ending suddenly alert.

Then, he moved. With a deliberate slowness that felt both like a question and a claim, Sanemi slid his broad hand up the curve of Giyu’s spine. The touch was a brand, searing through the thin silk. Giyu’s entire world narrowed to the rough heat of Sanemi’s palm, the deliberate, stroking pressure of his thumb against the tense muscles of his back. The air grew thick, almost difficult to breathe. He could feel Obanai’s gaze on him, a silent, intense counterpoint to Sanemi’s physical boldness.

This is too much. I should move. I should… His thoughts were a tangled mess.

Giyu’s voice, when he found it, was a low, unsteady thread of sound. “S-Shinazugawa… w-what are you doing?”

Sanemi’s hand didn’t still. His thumb pressed into a particularly stubborn knot at the junction of Giyu’s shoulder, and Giyu had to bite his lip to stop a soft, involuntary sound from escaping.

“What does it look like?” Sanemi’s reply was a study in feigned nonchalance. He leaned in slightly, his breath ghosting the shell of Giyu’s ear as his voice dropped to a husky murmur.

“You hurt your shoulder. I’m just working out the soreness, that’s all.”

That’s all. The lie was so blatant, so audacious, it sent a fresh wave of heat through Giyu. As if this touch wasn’t unravelling him thread by thread. As if the room wasn’t charged with a tension so palpable it felt like the moment before a lightning strike. Sanemi was pushing, testing boundaries, and Giyu, to his own utter confusion, was allowing it.

“Is that so?” Giyu managed, his voice tighter now, betraying the struggle within.

“Mmhm,” Sanemi hummed, the sound vibrating through his hand and into Giyu’s skin. His fingers splayed wider, his palm a solid, warm weight that seemed to cover the entire span of Giyu’s shoulder blade.

“You said you wanted to get back on the roster for missions,” Obanai whispered, his voice pulling Giyu’s attention back to him. “With a sore shoulder, how are you going to do that… hmm?”

The double meaning hung in the air, untouched and undeniable. Giyu felt caught between them...Obanai’s silent, coiled intensity and Sanemi’s open, demanding touch. The careful walls he had spent a lifetime building felt as insubstantial as paper.

Then, Obanai’s hand moved again. His fingers trailed lower, down from Giyu’s shoulder to his wrist, then slid between his own. The simple, deliberate interlacing of their hands made Giyu’s pulse stumble and trip over itself. His eyes widened, a flush heating his cheeks. He looked up to see Obanai’s face turned slightly away, but a tell-tale red peeked from the edge of his bandages.

Sanemi’s breath was still a soft warmth against his ear, his hand a grounding, protective, and impossibly intimate weight on his shoulder. Giyu could feel Sanemi’s gaze on him, warm and heavy, and the blush extended down his neck. He looked down at his and Obanai’s joined hands, feeling every callous, every ridge of a scar. The warmth, the touch, the intensity...it was all too much.

He stood up abruptly, pulling his hand from Obanai’s and dislodging Sanemi’s touch. He did not spare a look at either of them.

“I am going to bed,” he declared, his voice strangled. He didn’t wait for a reply, practically making a run for the safety of his room.

Giyu lay in the darkness, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm long after he had fled. He was sure Sanemi and Obanai were still out there, and he desperately wanted to be asleep before they came in. For once, his mind obeyed his frantic wish, and the overwhelming confusion gave way to a deep, sudden sleep within minutes.

Giyu woke up warm. He’d actually slept well for once...deeply, peacefully...and for a few blissful seconds, he didn’t want to move. The futon was soft, the air still and the world quiet.

He sighed, eyes half-lidded in contentment, until they fluttered open and landed on a face right in front of him.

Obanai.

Fast asleep, breathing evenly, his dark lashes casting shadows across his cheeks. Innocent, serene...beautiful. Giyu found himself staring, his heart softening against his will. Then he blinked, the sleepy haze cleared, and reality hit him like a slap.

What was wrong with him?

He didn’t panic...he couldn’t, not without waking the menace in front of him. He began to shift, only to freeze when a hand brushed his back. Slowly, dread pooling in his stomach, he turned his head.

Sanemi.

White hair mussed, face peaceful, his breath ghosting across Giyu’s neck. The usual sharpness was gone; he looked almost ethereal, like some celestial being...a tennin in human skin, Giyu swallowed.

I’m going to die.

He tried tugging the blanket off, but it was pinned beneath their bodies. His jaw tightened. He rarely cursed...but he muttered every profanity he knew under his breath, aimed squarely at the two alphas who apparently couldn’t leave him alone even in sleep. Heat crept up his neck as last night’s touches flickered through his mind…no…no…absolutely not, he wasn’t going to think about that.

He moved, inch by inch, holding his breath...until his head bumped the wall with a dull thud. Pain shot through his skull; tears stung his eyes, but he bit his lip hard and refused to make a sound.

Finally…fucking finally he was out of the room…

Out of the house and running taking the usual track he took daily, and throughout the run, he hadn’t thought about anything…not how hard it was to run in a yukata…not about his sore shoulder which was not so sore anymore…not about the forest…not about the goddess and definitely not them.

When he finally stopped when he was back in courtyard legs trembling, he dropped onto the ground, exhaling hard before starting his stretches. He bent forward to touch his feet...and stiffened when steady hands pressed lightly against his back.

He turned and met the green-and-yellow eyes of Obanai, which seemed to be in the morning light. Giyu’s brain short-circuited…not that couldn’t be right, he blinked.

“What are you doing, Iguro?” he asked, voice colder than he intended.

“I’m helping you stretch.” Obanai replied, calm and maddeningly unbothered.

Giyu nearly screamed...almost. He stood abruptly, forcing Obanai to stumble. A flicker of guilt crossed his face, which he quickly buried.

“Thank you. I’m done.”

He escaped again breathing heavily. Giyu took a quick bath, changed into his uniform and new haori, and headed to the kitchen. His stomach growled; he’d skipped dinner thanks to their antics last night. He was stirring a pot of okayu when he felt it...warmth at his back. Sanemi, leaning close, peering over his shoulder, voice a low rumble against his ear.

“I think the salt’s less, what do you think, Obanai?”

As if the man wasn’t pressing half his body into Giyu’s enough, Obanai moved in on his other side, hand sliding over Giyu’s to guide the ladle.

“I think it’s fine now,” Obanai said softly.

The ladle clattered to the floor making a mess as Giyu stepped back like the pot had exploded.

“I’m not hungry. I’ll see you both at Oyakata-sama’s estate.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” Sanemi asked, voice deceptively mild.

“No, thank you,” Giyu said stiffly and fled before he combusted spontaneously.

“Should we lock the estate?” Obanai called after him, the grin clear in his tone.

“Do whatever you want,” Giyu snapped over his shoulder...then muttered under his breath.

“Like you ever listen to me.”

Outside the water estate Giyu stood alone at the fork, his stomach growled again. Shoulders slumped, he sighed and stomped his foot once knowing he was alone...petulant, irritated, hungry. Then he marched to the nearby soba shop. He wasn’t facing those two on an empty stomach…he needed his wits about him.

By the time he reached the Ubuyashiki estate, the snow from last night was still thick on the ground, his breath misting in the cold air. Giyu groaned. If Amane-san caught him looking like this again, he’d never hear the end of it.

But she wouldn’t be here, this was the Hashira meeting. Relief flickered through him as he stepped into the meeting hall.

“Good morning, Himejima-san,” he greeted softly.

“Good morning, Tomioka-san. I hope you are feeling better?” It looked like Oyakata-sama had told them all that he was sick…well to be fair he was…

“Yes, thank you for asking.”

He took his place quietly behind him as the others trickled in. Giyu ignored them all, as usual.

Then Sanemi and Obanai entered.

He didn’t have to look...he felt them. The air shifted, goosebumps rose along his arms, hidden thankfully under long sleeves. Giyu angled his head away, fighting the heat crawling up his neck as he felt twin accusing glares pierce the back of his head. He exhaled slowly; eyes fixed on the floor; it was going to be a long meeting.

Chapter Text

Giyu sat still, eyes lowered, hands resting loosely on his knees. Oyakata-sama’s voice flowed gently across the room...calm, deliberate, filled with quiet weight. But Giyu didn’t hear a single word.

He knew he should be listening...that this meeting was about what he’d found in the northern forest, that every Hashira present was waiting for Oyakata-sama’s judgment on it...but his mind was fogged, fixed elsewhere.

All he could think of was getting away from the two alphas, whatever plan he cooked up seemed ridiculous, overly complicated and bound to fail for Sanemi and Obanai the stubborn alphas who for some reason had decided to stick to him at all the fucking time.

Giyu could still feel it, the press of skin, the shared heat under the blanket. He could feel their fingers, ghosting over him, the way they made his skin tingle where the touched. He took a deep breath and held the shudders at bay that threatened to pass through him.

Giyu’s fingers twitched once against his knee, and he forced them still again. He told himself to breathe quietly, evenly, like he always did in meetings.

But every breath caught somewhere in his throat.

The soft shuffle of robes, the rustle of paper, Oyakata-sama’s measured pauses...they all faded into a dull hum. Words passed over him without shape or meaning. There was something about ‘waiting’, something about ‘testing.’

He didn’t know and truthfully after last night he didn’t care. The world had narrowed to the inches of space he was trying to protect between himself and the two alphas beside him as he counted his breaths.

One…two…three…

He didn’t notice when Oyakata-sama dismissed them. He only realized the meeting was over when everyone around him rose and the floor creaked with motion.

Blinking once, Giyu looked up...too late. Dozens of eyes were on him, though he couldn’t tell why. Maybe he’d been too quiet. Maybe they’d noticed something in the way he’d sat or maybe it was because of the fact that he had found the box in the forest…Giyu didn’t know. Giyu stood, bowed mechanically, and turned to leave. He almost made it out of the hall before Mitsuri’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Since we’re all off mission now… how about dinner tonight? We haven’t eaten together in so long!”

The words landed like a drop of cold water down his spine.

Before anyone could even agree, before she could even say his name, Giyu was gone...slipping through the veranda door like a shadow.

The others barely caught a glimpse...just a faint blur of movement, the rustle of fabric, and then nothing.

Mitsuri blinked. “Eh? He was sitting right there!”

“Tomioka-san…”

Tomioka was too far in his mind that he did not hear Shinobu calling after him and didn’t notice…he didn’t notice her running behind him as he closed the gate to the water estate right to her face.

Sanemi and Obanai had successfully scrambled his thoughts. For the first time in his life, he was the target of attention he didn’t know how to handle...the way they looked at him was kind and respectful and not the kind that made him want to peel his skin off.

In the quiet of the water estate finally admitted it to himself: he liked the attention. That was the problem, he liked it, and he didn’t understand why.

‘Why me? Why now? Why them? Is this all a joke?’

And if it was a joke then Giyu didn’t think he could handle it. His mind looped endlessly until he felt worn through. It wasn’t even evening, and he was already exhausted. He yawned, shook his trying to get rid of his confused thoughts and then deemed it futile and decided to sleep, when someone knocked on the door.

Giyu slumped, of course, they were back.

For one fleeting moment, he wondered what would happen if he just… didn’t answer. They’d probably break the door...then blame him and fix it like it was his fault.

He laughed, that sounded tired and frayed at the edges. And since his neesan’s death, he actually wanted to throw a tantrum.

“Tomioka, open the door.” Obanai’s voice came, smooth, unhurried.

Giyu sighed, there went his peace. He trudged over and slid the door open, meeting two familiar faces. He glared at them...a look that could have frozen fire which was promptly ignored to Giyu’s displeasure.

“Why are you two here? You have your own estates. Go back to them,” he said flatly.

They didn’t, instead, they slipped past him, comfortable and shameless, settling into his space like they belonged there.

Giyu folded his arms, his frown deepening. His glare might as well have been a soft breeze for all the effect it had.

“Why did you ignore Kocho?” Obanai asked, his voice mild.

“When?” Giyu asked.

“Now.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“I did not.”

“You did when she followed you back to your estate.”

“She did?”

“Yes, you closed the door on her face.”

“Oh…”

“Did you not notice her at all?”

“No.”

Giyu frowned, tilting his head in confusion...and missed the twin looks of disbelief from the alphas.

“Tomioka, are you okay?” Sanemi asked, genuine concern threading through his tone.

“Yes, I am why?” Giyu answered tilting his head in confusion, but exhaustion took over and all Giyu wanted to do was sleep, whatever Shinobu wanted to talk about could wait.

Both blinked, startled, a glint of guilt in their eyes but Giyu raised a hand to silence them.

“I’m going to sleep. And I’d really appreciate it if you both didn’t come in.”

“We, came by to ask you if you wanted to come to the dinner with all the Hashiras?” Sanemi asked instead looking hopeful, Giyu paused the rejection right on the tip of tongue.

“I am tired.” Giyu mumbled  and even if he wasn’t he didn’t think he would be able to handle all the attention on him.

“Okay.” Sanemi said deflating, making Giyu feel a little guilty.

“If there isn’t anything else I would like to retire.” Giyu mumbled, barely able to keep his eyes open. He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned, went to his room, lay down, and exhaled as his body finally sank into the futon.

Warm…still…quiet…blissful peace.

That was his last thought before sleep claimed him.

The moon was high in the night sky when Giyu woke, he walked in the empty estate, wondering just where Sanemi and Obanai were. They hadn’t left him for a moment since they had found…found…Giyu stroked his stomach and a deep pain resonated though his very soul, but it no longer felt like he was falling in an abyss, it felt like he was steady, strong ground. The loneliness and emptiness that threatened to drown him was driven away by their stubborn and annoying presence.

Last night and this morning had been confusing…it had been too much…for Giyu had never been a recipient of such tender touch from an alpha and never mind two alphas at the same time. It had always been rough and punishing hands that wanted only one thing from him. But when he had asked to be left alone, they had actually respected his wishes and Giyu didn’t know how to feel about it all. That kindness had undone him more than anything else.

His stomach growled suddenly, loud in the quiet. He blinked, startled by the sound, then almost smiled. Hunger was easier to handle than feelings. So, he followed the faint scent of food to the kitchen.

When he lit the lamp, the small room filled with a warm, golden glow and his breath caught. A tray sat neatly on the table. Two covered bowls udon in one and bone broth, in another one, and a folded note resting beside them.

Giyu’s fingers hesitated before picking it up. The handwriting was uneven, unmistakably Obanai’s.

Tomioka, heat the broth before eating don’t eat it cold. We might be late so don’t wait up.

And below, in bold, hurried scrawl that could only belong to Sanemi:

Oi, Tomioka, don’t make breakfast tomorrow. We’ll bring it and don’t overwork yourself.

Giyu just stood there for a moment, staring at the two messages at the care tucked into something so simple. His throat felt tight, a small, helpless smile tugged at his lips, his dead heart finally feeling a spark of warmth. But unlike the last times when he felt the same in the presence of the alphas care he didn’t crush it now…he let it flicker to life.

He warmed the broth as they had asked, the simple act steadying his chaotic mind. The delicious aroma filled the air, chasing the cold from the room. When he sat down to eat, alone under the pale moonlight, he found himself whispering his voice barely audible.

‘Thank you.’

His eyes burned, and Giyu wanted to see Sanemi and Obanai again, even though they tested the very core of his patience…he still wanted to see them, sit in their company even if he didn’t talk much, he still wanted them here.

When Giyu woke up, in his room he was confused…he remembered eating the udon and then laying his head on the table and then…Giyu blinked in the morning light…he didn’t remember how he had gotten here…and he wasn’t alone. But unlike yesterday morning where both alphas were in his space now, they had laid their futons at a respectable distance. Pleased by the change Giyu got up to run only to find it was snowing heavily.

Giyu pouted but then ran for a short while and hurried in shivering and sighed in relief when he did not see an awake and concerned Sanemi and Obanai. They had given him time till afternoon to maybe get used to their closeness at least that is what Giyu guessed for they were back to their antics.

And by day two of this Giyu had become master of evasion not that he needed any practice in that department. Every time one of them tried to touch him...a casual brush, a guiding hand, a teasing nudge...Giyu was gone like a puff of mist. 

He’d been sitting quietly, finally managing a peaceful cup of tea, when Sanemi decided the moment was perfect to flop down beside him...thigh to thigh, arm casually touching Giyu’s.

“Move closer, it’s cold,” Sanemi said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Giyu stared at him, expression flat.

 “There’s a fire going in the room and how close do you want to get?”  Giyu asked in a bland tone.

“Yeah, but this is warmer.”

Giyu took one calm sip of tea…then another…then without a word, stood up, muttered,

“I forgot the sugar,” and left the room...taking the entire teapot with him.

“Did he just… flee with the tea?” Sanemi muttered.

Obanai sighed. “Yes, he did.”

“Do you think we are overdoing it a little?” Sanemi asked.

“I think so, but I also don’t think we should stop, we have distracted him completely, he no longer looks like a dead rat.” Obanai said and ducked as Sanemi threw a pillow at him.

***

Obanai had decided to help with lunch again, which mostly meant leaning too close when Giyu chopped vegetables.

“Your knife technique’s gotten better,” he murmured, breath warm against Giyu’s ear.

The knife hit the cutting board a little too hard. Giyu’s shoulders went rigid.

“I forgot the soy sauce,” he said, voice calm, and promptly walked out of the kitchen.

Five minutes later, Sanemi found him sitting in the courtyard, soy sauce bottle beside him, staring at the now empty koi pond like it held the answers to life.

Obanai joined him, deadpan. “Did the pond ask for seasoning?”

Giyu just glared, cheeks pinking faintly. “I’m thinking.”

***

Sanemi had been demonstrating a grappling move,  ‘for self-defence,’ he had said...the lying jerk…and somehow that turned into Giyu flat on his back, Sanemi’s arm braced beside his head.

“You could’ve dodged,” Sanemi teased, leaning down, grin sharp.

“I did,” Giyu said flatly. “You’re just faster.”

Then, without ceremony, he flipped him over like he just hadn’t been hugged…ahem…tackled, stood up, dusted himself off, and muttered

“This round is mine…great I am going to sweep the courtyard.” Giyu blurted out, the excuse sounding pathetic even to him, and fled before Sanemi had even pushed himself up from the ground.

From the veranda, where he had been watching the entire exchange with Kaburamaru coiled placidly around his shoulders, Obanai spoke, his dry tone cutting through the tense air.

"At this rate, he'll start sleeping on the roof."

And as Giyu fled, the sound of his own frantic heartbeat roaring in his ears, he thought that the roof was starting to sound like a perfectly reasonable, and more importantly, a very safe and solitary, option.

***

But humour had its limits. Giyu could only run so far before all their touching got too much and it felt like he was running from one room to the other escaping them.

That afternoon, as the sun bled orange through the shoji screens, the tension finally snapped. Giyu was washing rice again, sleeves rolled to his elbows, determinedly focusing on the motion of water swirling in the bowl. He thought he was alone, until Sanemi’s reflection appeared beside his in the basin, followed by the quiet slide of Obanai’s steps.

“You’ll wash the grains away if you keep that up,” Obanai said, his voice soft.

“He’s been spacing out all day, maybe we should help him.” Sanemi chuckled.

Before Giyu could move, Sanemi’s hand came up to steady the bowl, the other brushing against Giyu’s waist. Obanai leaned closer from the other side to look...their nearness like a net. As if it wasn’t even intentional. And at this point it was almost becoming kind of a habit for them…almost like it was natural for them. But for Giyu, it was too much, his breath caught; his heart stuttered.

“Don’t,” he said, voice small and cracked, breaking the quiet like a glass splinter. Both alphas froze instantly, every trace of playfulness dying between them. The air in the room tightened.

“Tomioka?” Obanai asked his voice was soft, careful.

“Why…” Giyu’s voice trembled, catching halfway through the word. He swallowed, but it didn’t steady him. “Why are you doing this?”

Sanemi blinked, his brows furrowing. “Doing what?”

“This!” Giyu’s hand jerked up, a helpless, almost childlike motion...the bowl tipped, water and rice spilling over his fingers and down to the floor.

“All of this...the touching, the teasing, the way you look at me, the way you...” His voice fractured again, the words breaking into uneven breaths.

“I don’t understand what you want from me!” He stared at the mess at his feet as if it might explain what his heart couldn’t.

“I can’t…I don’t know how to act when you...” Giyu stopped, his breath hitching, he let go of the bowl, his hands falling to his side and Giyu turned his face away. The sound of ceramic clattering to the ground echoed too loud in the silence of Giyu’s words.

“Is this...” his voice came again, quieter now, trembling with something deeper than anger.

“Is this fun for you? To see me flustered. To make me think…” His throat worked around the next words, but they came anyway, raw and bare.

“Think that I matter.”

The stillness that followed was suffocating. Even the faint rustle of wind beyond the shoji doors went still, like the whole estate had stopped to listen.

“You shouldn’t…” Giyu’s voice was faint now, hoarse from holding back tears. “You shouldn’t play with people like that. I’m not...” he pressed a shaking hand to his chest, as if trying to hold the ache in...

“I don’t understand these things the way others do...I don’t understand what you’re trying to do. It’s mean of you two to make a mockery of me, it hurts.” The last word came out so quiet it was almost a breath.

Sanemi’s throat worked, guilt flickering across his face. He took a slow step forward, his usual bravado stripped away.

“Tomioka,” he said, rough and quiet, “we’re not playing.”

Obanai’s gaze softened too. “You really think we’d do that? After all this time?”

“Then why? You…you saw…that day…what I did…why me?” Giyu looked at them both, eyes shining, tears trembling but refusing to fall.

“Because” Sanemi said.

“It wasn’t your fault, and you matter to me more than you think.”

“It is because I want to show you, that you matter to me and I don’t care about all that…about that day.” Obanai added softly.

That broke something inside him...the wall he’d been holding up all this time. Giyu finally let the tears fall, silent but heavy. He didn’t speak, just stood there...small, trembling, exhausted...

“Tomioka?”

The silence that followed was heavy but soft, like the air after a storm. Giyu’s breath came in uneven shivers, his shoulders trembling beneath the dim glow of the kitchen lanterns.

 “We didn’t mean to push you like this or confuse you. We thought you would understand it easily if we just showed…I guess we went a bit overboard., for that I am sorry.” Obanai explained it gently

Giyu didn’t look at him nor say anything else. Sanemi finally stepped forward, voice quiet...nothing like his usual gruffness.

“I am sorry too,” he said simply. “We didn’t mean to corner you like that. I…I should’ve realized how it looked.”

“Understand what?” Giyu asked, sniffling, lashes wet, nose wet and lips trembling. Sanemi exhaled shakily, rubbing the back of his neck. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by a nervous honesty that felt almost foreign on him.

“That we like you, idiot,” he muttered, voice gruff but trembling at the edges. “That I… like you, a lot.”

 “And me as well, I like you too. We weren’t teasing you, Tomioka. We just…we just didn’t know how to say it in a way that wouldn’t scare you off. But I guess we did scare you in the end and I am sorry for that.” Obanai’s tone followed, low and calm.

Giyu stared at them both, stunned, his breath caught, , breath unsteady, his fingers trembling where they hovered near his chest.

“You’re serious?”

Obanai’s lips curved faintly. “Dead serious.”

Sanemi huffed out a nervous laugh.

“I’ve never been good at being subtle but turns out acting the way I have…that’s not helping either.” He scratched at his jaw, glancing away.

“We like being around you, I like you.”

That drew a tiny, startled sound out of Giyu...half a sniffle, half a laugh. His tears hadn’t stopped, but the weight in his chest shifted.

“I don’t…” Giyu started, voice raw. “I don’t understand why you’d want me.”

Sanemi smiled faintly. “You don’t have to understand it. Just… let us show you. And take your time…time to think about it…that maybe there is a future that you might want to spend with us.”

Obanai added, “One step at a time. You can still run away if you want...though we might follow.”

That earned a quiet laugh through Giyu’s tears...a small, watery sound that made both of them exhale in relief. He wiped his eyes clumsily with the back of his sleeve, still red-faced and blinking fast.

“Even after all that you’ve seen and also there are things…things that…I don’t think you’ll like me any more after knowing that.” Giyu whispered, his heart thudding in his chest.

“Tomioka, whatever it is, whatever you’re hiding… it doesn’t matter right now. We’ll wait till you’re ready to tell us. You can take all the time you need.” Obanai said.

”Yeah, what he said.” Sanemi replied, his tone tender and soft.

“Now go and sit, let us take care of the food. Okay?” Obanai requested to which Giyu nodded and left to sit by the engawa, his thoughts a mess but at least he knew now that Sanemi and Obanai were not here just for the sake of it after everything that had happened over the course of two months, Giyu was inclined to believe them.

Chapter Text

Snow swirled gently through the air, moving in slow, deliberate circles as it drifted down over the courtyard. The branches of the trees bent under the weight of fresh snow, the rooftops lay covered in a soft, white layer, and the sunlight, dimmed behind heavy clouds, spread a muted, silvery glow over the entire estate, giving it an almost dreamlike stillness.

Giyu sat quietly on the engawa, lost in thought, unable to stop his mind from returning to the conversation he had shared with Sanemi and Obanai. He would have been lying if he claimed he was not attracted to the two alphas. He would also have been lying if he claimed he did not see the genuine care behind their clumsy attempts to grow close to him.

The memory of how they had stepped forward when he had been at his lowest, even though both of them had disliked him before, made his chest tighten. They had known that he had killed a man and did not see him as a murderer but the victim that he was. They had seen him broken and trembling, yet there had been no judgment in their eyes, no pity that made him feel small. Even when he had repeatedly tried, and sometimes failed, to chase them away, they had stubbornly stood their ground and refused to leave him alone in his fragile state.

They had repaired his damaged estate with their own hands, cooked for him day after day, and all but forced him to eat when he had no will to do so. In truth, he knew that if he had not met them on that fateful day, he might have given up entirely, letting the weight of his grief swallow him whole. His heart beat a little faster as he remembered their touches, hesitant yet gentle, and he hated how much he liked it. He liked their hands on him, liked the warmth of their bodies near his, liked the care and attention they gave him so freely. He even liked their company, though he barely admitted it to himself.

But beneath the warmth of attraction lay a deep, uncomfortable guilt. It had been only two months since his child had been taken from him in the most brutal way, and the idea of allowing himself to feel anything even faintly pleasant felt like a betrayal. Moreover, knowing they were not aware of what he had endured after the Final Selection made him doubt that they would want to stay.

‘Why would anyone want someone like me, someone who is so filthy?’

Yet the doubt eased slightly when he remembered the goddess’s words after he had climbed out of the underground room, her last words to him.

‘When doubt and darkness pull at you again, remember that not all shadows mean harm. Some follow only to stand guard. Trust them, even when you fear you cannot trust yourself, and remember that you are not alone, Giyu.’

The memory wrapped around him like a protective cocoon. His fear of being abandoned again slowly loosened its grip, and for the first time in a long while he took a full, steady breath. The cold air filled his lungs, sharp but invigorating. Only then did he realize how much he was shivering.

Giyu glanced down at himself and noticed that he was still dressed in a thin yukata, completely unsuited for sitting outside in the snow. The cold had settled deep in his bones, yet the thought of going inside had not occurred to him until his body trembled more violently. He blinked down at his hands, surprised by how pale they looked. Despite the chill numbing his skin, his face felt oddly warm.

Finally, he pushed himself to his feet, reminding himself that he did not want Amane-san to scold him again for being careless with his health. He stood still for a moment, looking out at the courtyard now completely cloaked in snow. The world appeared renewed, quiet and white, and he wondered, with a faint, fragile hope, whether perhaps even he might find something new in it as well.

By the time he changed into warm clothes and made his way to the dining area, lunch had already been prepared and laid out. A comforting bowl of zosui and a delicate serving of agedashi tofu waited on the tray. His stomach growled loudly enough to make Obanai look up in silent acknowledgment, which only deepened the flush on Giyu’s cheeks. He hurried to take his seat opposite the other man, grateful that Obanai did not comment on the noise.

“Thank you, Iguro,” Giyu said softly when Obanai passed him the warmed bowl.

For a moment he hesitated, glancing toward the doorway. “Where is Shinazugawa?” he asked. He did not want to start eating without Sanemi. The food smelled delicious, yet something felt incomplete without the other man present.

“He went to look for you,” Obanai replied.

“I will go call for him,” Giyu offered, already rising from his seat, but he paused when Obanai lifted his hand slightly.

“He will be here soon. You do not need to…” Obanai began, then trailed off as he nodded toward the doorway where Sanemi appeared.

“Obanai, Tomioka, he is not…” Sanemi started to say, only to stop abruptly when his eyes landed on Giyu sitting at the table with his food. Whatever he muttered afterward was too quiet for Giyu to catch.

Sanemi walked over and took the seat beside him, his presence warm and immediate. Giyu shivered ever so slightly when their shoulders almost brushed, and he lowered his gaze to avoid revealing how flustered he suddenly felt.

He murmured a shy thanks for the meal, then quietly began to eat, feeling strangely steady, strangely warm and it felt nice that Giyu wanted this to never end.

The lunch was quiet, the air felt cleared of the misunderstandings that Giyu had held.

“I am going to the butterfly estate for some time.” Sanemi announced, Giyu turned to look at Sanemi waiting for him to continue when he didn’t Giyu nodded his head.

“Going to see Genya?” Obanai asked.

Giyu mentally slapped himself, feeling a brief flicker of guilt for having been so absorbed in the events of the past days that he had nearly forgotten Sanemi’s brother.

“How is he, has he recovered fully?” Giyu asked.

“Yes, I am, and he is better now.” Sanemi answered.

“That is good to hear.” Giyu replied, relieved, when he had carried him, Genya’s wounds had been quite severe.

“Um…Tomioka…?” Sanemi said again hesitating, his voice faltering slightly as if he were unsure of the exact words to use, and Giyu looked at him, puzzled by the unusual hesitance, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

“Yes, Shinazugawa?”

“Do you want me to…want…me…too…”

Sanemi trailed off, his hands momentarily pausing in their movement as though he feared speaking further, and Giyu blinked, confusion rippling through him as he glanced at Obanai, who mirrored the same startled expression.

“What?” Giyu prompted him again, voice soft but edged with concern, and Sanemi swallowed, his face colouring faintly, his usual composure unravelling just enough to reveal a shy, almost vulnerable self that Giyu had not expected to see.

“Do want me to say anything to the Kamado siblings?” Sanemi asked in one breath.

The chopsticks froze on their way to Giyu’s mouth, and he looked stunned at Sanemi.

“What?” he breathed again, barely above a whisper, and the silence was mirrored by Obanai, whose own expression was one of quiet shock and curiosity.

Sanemi flushed more deeply, his gaze dropping toward his bowl, his long lashes brushing against his cheeks in a way that made Giyu’s heart skip, and Giyu could not help but notice, in all the years he had known the white-haired alpha, how strikingly different, how unguarded and soft he appeared, and it took all the years of keeping his breathing normal.

“A message for them.”

“I never thought that you would willingly ever talk to them and not threaten them?” Giyu couldn’t help but ask.

“I…I…I would if you want me to…” Sanemi said his face almost in his bowl and now it was Giyu’s turn to turn red and for not the first time he missed his long hair. Times like these where he could hide his face in his long bangs, cursing the demon mentally who had made him cut his hair Giyu could only shake his head in answer.

“Tomioka blushes so prettily.” Obanai observed quietly, Giyu turned red, he could feel his gaze burning on him, but he did not have the courage to look at either of them.

…Fucking hell…

They were going to be the death of him, Giyu didn’t say anything after that and neither did Sanemi or Obanai for that matter, but Giyu felt their gazes on him from time to time, but he did not escape like he made his routine for the past few days. Sanemi had left after lunch and Giyu cleaned the table and then washed the dishes, despite Obanai’s protests.

The small flare of bravado fled at the sight of an Obanai who was looking at him with so much want with a hasty explanation of him feeling feverish Giyu escaped to the safety of his room. The futon looked inviting and warm and after the chill of being out in the snow in a thin yukata Giyu decided the best way to pass time was to sleep and that is what he did…he should get some books to read in future…he couldn’t sleep always when he needed to be alone was the last thought before Morpheus claimed him.

Giyu woke to the sensation of his shoulder being shaken with a gentleness that did not match the usual gruff impatience of the man doing it, and Sanemi’s voice, softened and unusually low, drifted into his half-conscious state

“Tomioka wake up.” Sanemi called.

Giyu groaned softly and turned onto his side in a futile attempt to escape the waking world, burying himself in the lingering warmth of his futon, his body heavy with sleep and his mind far too content to be disturbed, yet Sanemi called again, even quieter this time

“Oi, Tomioka.”

 The sound made Giyu open his eyes reluctantly, blinking up at the white-haired alpha with a sleepy pout that formed almost instinctively.

He looked at Sanemi with a silent plea, his expression making it embarrassingly clear that he wanted permission to sleep longer, as though the man standing over him had suddenly become the keeper of his rest, but Sanemi, with a patience that surprised even himself, tried again with a coaxing tone.

“Come on get up Obanai made nikujaga, with beef. Get up before it gets cold.” Sanemi coaxed him. Giyu still lost in the fog of sleep, let out a small, soft whine from the back of his throat  then clapped his hands over his face embarrassed, Red in the face he ducked his face not wanting to look at the smirk that was definitely there on the jerk’s face.

But the jerk was being exceptionally kind did not say anything.

“Come on, get up.” Sanemi said so kindly, without any judgement the gentleness woven into his tone making Giyu peek out from under his hands despite himself.

Giyu hummed softly, his previous embarrassment forgotten. His hair was mussed, his voice still faint when he spoke.

“Sanemi… are you sick?”

Sanemi blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You look red,” Giyu said, concern flickering across his face. Before Sanemi could react, Giyu sat up and leaned forward, frowning slightly. He touched his forehead, touched his cheek and then touched Sanemi’s forehead again.

“Do you have a fever?” Giyu asked

“No, I don’t.” Sanemi muttered, trying to sound gruff.

“And stop looking at me like that.”

Giyu tilted his head in confusion, blinking up at him with wide, earnest eyes.

“Like what?”

“Like that,” Sanemi snapped although the snap lacked its usual bite and landed more like a flustered attempt to regain control of the situation. He cleared his throat, straightened his posture, and reached out to take Giyu’s hand with conspicuous care.

“Come on…up, you need to eat.

Still half-drowsy, Giyu shook his head to refute but let himself be pulled up his fingers loose in Sanemi’s, and when Sanemi suddenly paused mid-step, Giyu stumbled forward and crashed into him, their bodies nearly toppling over if not for Sanemi’s quick reflexes.

“Tomioka, I think you have fever.” Sanemi said as he laid his cold hand on his forehead. he temperature difference making Giyu shiver, and Giyu, instead of pulling away, simply looked up at him with a dazed sort of softness, wondering in the haze of sickness why Sanemi had not immediately let him go.

“Cold…” Giyu mumbled, leaning slightly into the touch before he could stop himself.

“Okay… okay… let us get some food in you first,” Sanemi said, redder than before, guiding him toward the dining area with their hands still loosely linked, Giyu’s steps slow and unsteady and almost childlike as he followed him out of the room, oblivious to the warmth of the presence beside him.

By the time they reached the low table in the dining room, Giyu, fogged with fever, had not realized that his hand was still in Sanemi’s or that he had been seated between the two alphas, squeezed so closely that their shoulders brushed his lightly with each shift. Kaburamaru slithered lazily from Obanai’s shoulder toward Giyu’s neck, hissing in satisfaction at the warmth radiating from him, curling there contentedly.

Giyu ate in silence, barely aware of anything except the comforting flavor of the nikujaga and the distant longing for his warm futon, while Sanemi and Obanai discussed something he could not keep track of, their voices blurring together in a rhythm that soothed him more than the food itself. A cool hand pressed suddenly to his forehead, startling him just enough to lift his gaze toward Obanai, who was studying him with quiet concern.

“The nikujaga is delicious, thank you, Iguro,” Giyu mumbled, nodding his head in an attempt at politeness, even as his eyelids drooped with exhaustion and heat.

Obanai turned to Sanemi. “I think we will have to take him to Amane-san,” he said, his voice steeped in worry.

“NO,” Giyu said immediately, his sudden outburst freezing both alphas in place as if he had thrown a kunai at their feet.

He still had enough sense left to recognize that going to Amane-san while sick was a very bad idea unless the situation was truly dire, because Amane-san was kind, strict, perceptive, and absolutely merciless when it came to scolding those who ignored her instructions, and he had no desire whatsoever to be on the receiving end of her wrath again.

“Why?” Sanemi asked, bewildered by the intensity of Giyu’s reaction.

“Because she will scold me,” Giyu muttered, pouting at the sheer injustice of it, “she told me not to be in the cold in thin clothes, especially after she gave me warm winter clothes, and especially after she scolded me when we took the box to Oyakata-sama. I even showed her that I had a hanten with me, but she did not agree with me… at least I carried it,” he whined, the fever making the usually stoic man sound surprisingly petulant.

Sanemi and Obanai exchanged a long, silent glance as they stared at the pouting, fever-flushed Giyu, completely taken aback by this rare display of childish honesty and unabashed frustration.

“Yeah, he is sick…” Sanemi mumbled, his voice so low that Giyu, too focused on the food in his bowl, did not hear him at all.

 “Tomioka, you have fever.” Obanai stated.

“No, I am fine.” Giyu, stubbornly refused to admit he was feverish, swayed slightly where he sat and blinked as though the world had narrowed just a little more at the edges.

“Oi, Tomioka,” Sanemi said, the irritation in his voice edged with unmistakable concern.

“Hmm…”

“Are you done eating?” He asked noticing that Giyu had stopped eating.

Giyu blinked again, frowning as if Sanemi had suddenly started speaking a foreign language.

“I am fine.” He insisted softly, and then immediately contradicted himself by listing sideways until Obanai reached out on instinct and steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.

“You are absolutely not fine,” Obanai said, and though his voice was calm, his grip was firm and grounding, “your skin is too warm.”

Giyu flushed faintly, whether from fever or embarrassment neither of them could tell, and he looked at Obanai’s hand as though trying to calculate the appropriate distance he should place between himself and the sword of impending social contact. Sanemi reached forward first, catching his elbow, and Giyu jerked like a startled cat, trying to pull away.

“I can walk,” he muttered, but his voice wavered, and Sanemi, ever the embodiment of impatience wrapped around affection he refused to name, scoffed loudly.

“Yeah? You call that walking?” Sanemi raised both brows as Giyu tried to stand, wobbling like a newborn animal.

“Cause to me it looks like you’re auditioning to be a falling tree.”

Obanai exhaled through his nose, the closest he ever came to a laugh.

“He is going to collapse. Sit down, Tomioka.”

Giyu opened his mouth to argue again but found himself guided back onto the futon they hastily laid out for him, both of them moving in a flurry of quiet urgency and awkward familiarity that would have made him flee any other day. Obanai arranged the blanket over him with careful, almost delicate movements, while Sanemi crouched beside him and pressed the back of his hand to Giyu’s forehead.

Giyu blinked slowly. “I don’t have fever.”

“Unbelievable.” Sanemi stared at him, then groaned as if physically pained.

Obanai leaned closer, his voice filling the space Sanemi’s exasperation left. “You should have told us. We take care of our own.” He paused, then added dryly.

“Even if some of us are terrible at asking for help.”

Giyu shifted again, uncomfortable beneath their attention, his fever making the world soft around the edges. “You are… very good at this,” he murmured, a faint, dazed smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Caring.”

Both men froze.

Sanemi’s ears turned red…absolutely…unmistakably red.
Obanai’s fingers stilled mid-adjustment of the blanket, and he stiffened like someone had just thrown a confession into his lap without warning.

“W-What the hell are you talking about?” Sanemi spluttered, looking anywhere but at Giyu, whose half-lidded eyes were focused directly on him.

“I’m not...this isn’t... you’re just sick, that’s all!”

Obanai cleared his throat, the tips of his ears betraying him with a faint pink flush. “Do not compliment us when you are delirious. Or at all,” he muttered, very quietly.

 “It is… distracting.”

“But it is true.” Giyu blinked up at them slowly, confusion settling again.

Sanemi made a strangled noise and stood up so fast he nearly tripped over the teapot.
Obanai, face partially hidden behind his bandages but very clearly flustered, tugged the blanket up to Giyu’s chin with unnecessary precision.

“Rest,” he said, voice just slightly too low. “Before you embarrass yourself further.”

Giyu, hot and feverish and only vaguely aware of the chaos he had caused, let his eyes close.

The world was still dark when Giyu woke, and for a moment he had no sense of how long he had been sick. The fever lingered at the edges, warm and dull like a fading ember, but his awareness was sharper now and the rhythm of steady breathing around him pulled him gently back into the present.

He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the light, the sky outside was still dark, but the room glowed in the light of a full moon. And he realized, with a slow, startling awareness, that he wasn’t alone…well now he expected it…expected to be not left alone by the two Hashiras. But the mask of being close at a respectable distance fell away.

Sanemi’s arm was slung across his waist, heavy and protective, his breath ghosting against Giyu’s nape. The man slept like he fought...fierce even in rest, the weight of his touch firm enough to anchor. On his other side, Obanai’s hand was threaded with his, their fingers tangled together in sleep. Kaburamaru rested coiled near Giyu’s shoulder, its soft scales brushing his skin each time it shifted.

He froze at first, unsure whether to move...whether to pull away before they woke and realized what they’d done. But then, something in him refused to. He breathed out slow, unsteady. Their warmth pressed against him from both sides, steady and real.

It felt… safe.

Sanemi’s hand twitched against his chest in sleep, a small unconscious motion that made Giyu’s heart stumble. Obanai’s fingers tightened imperceptibly around his own, like even in dreams he refused to let go.

The part of him that was always cautious, always retreating, tried to insist this was temporary...a kindness born of exhaustion. But his body betrayed him; he leaned back just slightly into Sanemi’s solid frame, feeling the faint thump of his heartbeat against his spine.

It felt good…too good.

In the dark, there was no need to hide the way his chest ached...not with grief, but something gentler. He let his thumb brush against Obanai’s knuckles, a tentative, silent gesture of gratitude. The other man’s breath hitched faintly, though he didn’t wake.

Giyu closed his eyes again, letting the quiet wrap around him. Giyu wanted to keep this moment, this stillness where he didn’t have to be the Water Pillar or the survivor or the one who always stood at the edge. Here, he was just Giyu...caught between two steady heartbeats, warm in the half-light before dawn.

His throat felt tight. He didn’t have words for what this was, but he understood one thing with bone-deep clarity.

He cared for them, and he wanted so many things…things that he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask.

A faint shift beside him made him open his eyes just in time to see Obanai’s loosened bandages slip away from his face. Kaburamaru stirred, sensing the movement, but Giyu could not look anywhere else. This was the first time he had seen Obanai without the bandages, the first time he had truly seen him. The scar that ran across his face caught the moonlight, sharp and stark, and Giyu felt something twist painfully in his chest. The thought of someone hurting Obanai like pained him a lot.

Giyu raised his other hand a little hesitant unsure if he was allowed to touch him but then his mind conjured memories of the soft touches…well if they could…so could he…

Giyu brushed his fingers lightly along Obanai’s cheek. The scar felt different beneath his touch, textured in a way that spoke of old hurt, but the rest of his skin was soft and warm, more delicate than Giyu expected. The long dark lashes cast shadows across his pale face, and Giyu felt his breathing quicken as a wish rose inside him, fragile and longing. And he wished…wished…that there would come one day where he could do this in the open…unrestricted…forever…

“You’re so beautiful Iguro.” Giyu whispered, his voice was soft and small in the quiet room, carried by the safety of knowing Obanai was asleep. He did not know what he would do if Obanai ever heard him say it.

Chapter Text

Obanai drifted between sleep and waking, suspended in that gentle haze where dreams clung to him like thin mist. Warmth lay beside him, a warmth he melted into without thinking. Something soft brushed his cheek and at first he assumed it was Kaburamaru shifting. But the touch lingered with a care that no serpent possessed.

The faint stroke returned, light and hesitant, and it tugged him closer to waking with a slow pull he could not resist. His breathing changed, shallow with awareness, and he felt the weight of fingers tracing the edge of his face as if someone studied him in quiet wonder.

His lashes trembled though he kept still by instinct, unsure if he had the strength to face the truth of whoever touched him with such fragile tenderness. Then a voice reached him, soft and honest, a whisper shaped with reverence.

“You are so beautiful, Iguro.”

Obanai’s breath caught. Giyu’s words settled in his chest like warm water, spreading through him with a sweetness that terrified him. He could not move. He could not speak. He simply let the moment sink into him because nothing like this had ever been spoken to him. No one had ever offered him sincerity that gentle or reverence that soft.

Silence followed, small and weightless, as if the entire world held its breath. Giyu’s fingertips still rested on his cheek, touching the scars without hesitation, cool and steady. Obanai heard his breathing, quiet and slightly uneven, as if the sound itself might break something fragile between them. Obanai forced his frantic heart under control, forced his breath to stay even while his entire world tilted. Giyu touched the part of him he feared most, touched his monstrosity like it was nothing to be ashamed of, and still called him beautiful.

Every instinct in Obanai urged him to open his eyes, to see how the pale dawn light shaped Giyu’s face in pale golden. He wanted to see his expression; to confirm the tenderness he heard in his voice. But he refused to startle him. Giyu must have gathered so much courage to reach for him, and Obanai would not risk breaking that. This moment settled through him like euphoria, and he knew he would remember it long after the warmth faded.

He ached to smile but stayed still. He let Giyu’s touch travel freely, let him take in every line of his face as if it mattered.

Slowly, Obanai shifted closer, leaning into the warmth of Giyu’s palm. Giyu froze but did not pull away. A calloused thumb brushed his cheek and Obanai gasped before he could stop himself. Giyu stilled again, breath catching.

Time stretched around them, quiet and tender, as if waiting for either of them to break the moment…neither did…no gasp…no word…no sound. Only the silence of two people suspended in a fragile, precious stillness that neither dared to disturb.

Obanai let the moment settle around him like a warm blanket. Giyu’s touch lingered for a breath longer and then he withdrew his hand, slow and hesitant, as if he feared he had lingered too long. Obanai waited until he felt that careful hand leave his cheek before he allowed his lashes to flutter in the softest hint of waking. He shifted slightly, drawing in a slow breath, letting it sound like sleep loosening its hold on him.

He opened his eyes.

Giyu eyes widened dramatically that Obanai almost smiled. The faint pink touching the tips of his ears betrayed him more than any expression could. Giyu tried to school his face into calm, but his eyes kept darting away from Obanai’s face, then cautiously returning, then fleeing again as though caught doing something forbidden.

Obanai pushed himself up a little, his movements lazy and drowsy, playing the part as naturally as breathing.

“You are awake early,” he whispered, letting his voice stay soft with sleep, as if he had not felt every careful touch on his skin a moment ago. Obanai let his eyes wander to the window from where the moon was shining brightly…moon and not dawn.

“No…it is not sunrise it is still night? Why are you awake?” He asked confused, 

“I… I guess I have been sleeping a lot lately.” Giyu answered swallowing hard. His gaze drifted somewhere near Obanai’s collarbone, very determined not to meet his eyes.

Obanai let the silence stretch just long enough for Giyu to grow uneasy. He could almost see the thoughts racing behind those shy blue eyes, guilt and panic tumbling over each other. It was endearing in a way that warmed Obanai’s chest.

“I see, but you were sick, so you are supposed to sleep.” Obanai said quietly, and he let a small hum slip out, as if satisfied with the explanation. Giyu glanced at him again, hopeful and still nervous. He looked like he expected to be scolded. He always looked like that when he felt he had overstepped.

“Oh…yes but…” Giyu trailed off.

“But?” Obanai prompted when Giyu remained silent.

“All the work has fallen on you two and I feel like I am taking advantage…”

“Tomioka…I like being here…being able to help you…to be able to see you every day…so take advantage of me, I like it.” Obanai whispered, he was sure he was as red as a tomato, but he was not going to be passive about his want to have Giyu as his…he had done enough of that and the one insecurity of his, Giyu had managed to blow it away like a flame on a candle.

Giyu, widened his eyes he looked away as blushed so prettily that all Obanai wanted to do was lean over and kiss him silly, but he didn’t unless he wanted Giyu running away from him again. He had enough of that and as adorable it was, it was equally frustrating.

Obanai adjusted the blanket, slow and thoughtful, then let his gaze linger on Giyu’s face just long enough for the other man to notice. Giyu stiffened, the red deepening. Obanai felt something gentle flutter through him at the sight.

“You look better today,” Obanai said softly, watching the way Giyu’s breath hitched.

“Rested, softer…”

‘The shadows under your eyes no longer as prominent as before…’

Obanai let the words on the tip of his tongue. Giyu froze, confusion blooming first, then suspicion, then a shy, startled embarrassment that nearly made him curl into himself.

“Softer…?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. Obanai allowed the smallest smile to touch his lips, there for only a heartbeat.

 “Yes, softer...”

Giyu looked away so quickly it almost seemed painful, his shoulders curling in a way Obanai found unbearably endearing. His hands fidgeted as though searching for something to hold on to.

“I… I did not expect… that.”

Obanai leaned back slightly, his voice dipping into something warm and teasing, something he rarely allowed himself to use.

“You keep surprising me, Tomioka. It is only fair I return the favour.”

Giyu went utterly still, caught between wanting to flee the room and wanting to stay exactly where he was. Obanai watched him quietly, letting the moment settle into something gentle and precious. He would not mention the touch, or the words whispered into his skin, not yet. He wanted to let Giyu come to him in his own time.

For now, he treasured the faint tremor in Giyu’s breathing, the bloom of colour on his cheeks, the way his eyes kept drifting back to Obanai even when he tried so hard not to.

The moment broke when Sanemi grunted from behind Giyu and they both froze. The air felt tight, as if the room itself held its breath. Giyu turned first, shoulders stiff, then relaxed when he saw Sanemi still asleep. Obanai did not relax.

Not even a little.

Because right there, clear as daylight, was Sanemi’s hand. Resting on Giyu’s chest. Broad and warm and very much still touching him.

Obanai’s mind stalled. Then it kicked back to life with a sharp burst of jealousy that felt almost physical. He wanted to chop that hand off. Just slice it clean at the wrist and send it flying into the snow outside. He breathed through his nose, slow and controlled, the way he did when he resisted the urge to murder someone in their sleep.

He told himself to look away...to be rational...to act like a normal human being.

He failed.

He looked again, and the sight hit him like a blade to the ribs.

Sanemi’s fingers were spread over Giyu’s chest...right over his heartbeat...right where Obanai had wanted to put his own hand.

Then something tugged gently at Obanai’s attention, a soft squeeze.

He looked down.

His breath stopped.

His hand was interlaced with Giyu’s. Their fingers were woven together so naturally that he had forgotten where he ended and Giyu began. He felt every ridge of Giyu’s calloused skin. Every warm line of his palm. Every small movement of his thumb.

He had not even noticed. Too distracted by the words Giyu had whispered. Too stunned by the touch on his scar. But now the weight of it hit him and the world spun for a second.

He dragged his gaze upward and nearly choked.

Giyu was smirking.

A real smirk…small, quiet, almost secretive. An expression Obanai did not even know Giyu had in his entire emotional vocabulary. It curled at the corner of his lips like a silent tease.

As if Giyu knew exactly what was happening inside his head.

As if Giyu found it amusing seeing Obanai bare his jealousy.

Obanai’s thoughts stuttered so hard they nearly collapsed. His pulse thundered. His grip on Giyu’s hand tightened on instinct and Giyu squeezed back with all the calm of someone who knew he held complete power in that moment.

Then Giyu rolled his eyes.

Not at Sanemi.

At him.

Obanai’s heart disintegrated like burning paper.

‘I am going to die,’ he thought, with absolute certainty. ‘I am genuinely going to die.’

Sanemi was on his way back from the Butterfly Estate, boots sinking quietly into the thin snow packed along the path. It had been a strange morning. Something inside him felt different, as if a knot he had carried for years had finally loosened. He could not name the change, but he knew it was there. His body felt rested, strangely light, and that alone unsettled him.

He remembered waking to a bright empty room. The tatami had rustled when he turned, and the space beside him had already cooled. Giyu’s futon was empty, only the faint dip of his weight still visible. Sanemi had stared at it for longer than he meant to, one hand still half curled where it had rested around Giyu’s waist hours earlier. He swallowed hard at the memory. It had been the best sleep he had in years and that truth tugged something raw in his chest.

When he finally dragged himself out of the futon, still caught between confusion and warmth, he found Obanai and Giyu sitting close together by the window. They whispered quietly, their shoulders brushing. The sight made him halt in the doorway. He narrowed his eyes at their closeness. Last night Giyu had mumbled nonsense in his fever. Today he was leaning in close to Obanai, calm and unbothered, the frustrated Giyu was nowhere to be seen.

He had stood in the doorway, observing them, and he came to a few more realizations he had been doing a lot of introspection since he saw a hurt Genya, and he was trying to be mature. The rage…the anger seemed to have stilled. The restlessness the hatred for the world seemed to have dimmed now and looking at Giyu and Obanai Sanemi felt like this was his home…home where they were and was it shocking that he saw Obanai more than a friend…no to his surprise he did not find it shocking.

Sanemi didn’t run away from that revelation, like he did usually, he breathed in the peace in air…even if it was temporary he loved it and to maintain this…to have Giyu with Obanai he would do anything.

His thoughts snapped away when he reached the estate gate and saw Giyu standing there. Giyu noticed him and the stoic expression changed…to one of a smile…not the small ones that usually graced his face no…this was lips curving smiled which sent jolts of pleasure to Sanemi’s toes. The world lit around Sanemi as he stopped, his heart thudding in his chest.

…beautiful…

Was all Sanemi could think, stunned and breathless. Giyu cocked his head in confusion.

“Shinazugawa, what happened?” Giyu called; and Sanemi smirked.

“Nothing just appreciating the beautiful you.” Sanemi said and watched as Giyu turned red. It couldn’t be only him who could be flustered now could he. Giyu huffed as if annoyed and turned to go back in. Sanemi quickened his steps and fell in step beside Giyu.

“So, you were waiting for me?” Sanemi asked teasing.

“No.” Came the answer and Sanemi’s smirk returned.

“Liar.”

“I am not.” Giyu protested Sanemi slipped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer. Giyu froze like he had been struck, eyes darting everywhere except at him. His body relaxed after a moment, and Sanemi felt his own smile soften into something gentler. Giyu was not running from him, not anymore.

“Then why were you standing here Tomioka?” Sanemi asked as goosebumps rose on Giyu’s nape.

“I-I...I…Iguro….h-he…didn’t allow me to train and I couldn’t sit idle and watch him train. He did not even allow me to even cook. I am fine now, I don’t have fever, and it is my house so I should be allowed to do things in my house. I am Hashira, I am not as weak as you both think.” Giyu complained, an adorable pout on his face and Sanemi wanted to kiss him the pout away so badly.

“But I thought you weren’t a Hashira?” Sanemi asked, had he forgotten their ill-fated conversation…no of course not and he wasn’t going to let Giyu forget it too.

“What?” Giyu asked confused, finally shrugging of Sanemi’s hand, turning to face him his blue eyes narrowed.

“That day when the pink demon came you had said that you aren’t a Hashira?” Sanemi reminded.

“Oh…” Giyu said his eyes widening as seemed to remember.

“Yes, oh…”

“Well, I am a placeholder till the next Water Hashira comes along.” Giyu said, rubbing his neck awkwardly at least having the sense to look ashamed. Sanemi blinked, took a deep breath.

“You have a way to make me so irritated with you Tomioka.” Sanemi mumbled.

“Shut up.”

Sanemi laughed quietly, a soft breath of warmth in the cold air. Sanemi stepped closer, the cold air swirling around them but unable to touch the warmth pooling in his chest.

“If you see it that way then we are all place holders till the next Hashira comes to take our place.” Sanemi continued, stepping into Giyu’s space and taking his hand. This time Giyu did not freeze or still, he just rolled his eyes. Just like that, Sanemi blinked in absolute shock, his mouth falling open as if he had been struck. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. That small, effortless defiance, that tiny rebellion against all his expectations, made him giddy and nervous at the same time.

It wasn’t like Giyu never contradicted him, and now that Sanemi thought Giyu was the one who contradicted him the most, so his rolling his eyes should not have surprised him, but it did. It pleased him to see Giyu coming out of his shell; to see him comfortable around him and it pleased all his alpha senses…it pleased him.

Giyu rolled his eyes again, slower this time, deliberate, and Sanemi’s chest contracted with a mixture of disbelief and delight. He could not stop staring, could not stop thinking that even a simple roll of the eyes from Giyu made the snow and the cold fade away, left nothing but the dizzying warmth of the moment.

“You’re an idiot,” Giyu said, voice quiet but sharp, and Sanemi wanted to laugh and groan at the same time. He wanted to drop to his knees and press his forehead against Giyu’s hand, just to feel it again, to memorize it.

“Yes,” Sanemi said, his voice rough with an emotion he could barely control. “I like you, Tomioka.” It became easier now that they had confessed to him, the words hung between them, impossibly light and impossibly heavy, and Giyu’s reaction was immediate. Giyu blushed to the tips of his ears his shoulders stiffened, his breath hitched in a small, desperate little sound that made Sanemi’s heart seize.

“Shameless… Asshole…” Giyu muttered, almost under his breath, but it was loud enough for Sanemi to hear. The faintest crease of frustration crossed Giyu’s forehead, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed him, and Sanemi felt a sudden, fierce rush of protectiveness and adoration that left him trembling where he stood.

Giyu tugged his hand free, breaking the contact, and turned toward the house. Sanemi’s fingers twitched, wanting, aching to reach out again, but all he did was watch, utterly captivated, as he disappeared inside.

Sanemi remained in the snow, frozen in place yet alive in every nerve. The world around him was white, cold, and silent, but inside, his chest was a furnace. He could still feel Giyu’s warmth in his fingers, the faint heat from his skin, the way his small, defiant movements had made his chest ache with something entirely new.

He breathed out slowly, and a foolish smile crept across his face. He whispered to no one, not even the wind.

“I like you too, Tomioka. More than I’ve ever liked anything.” And he stood there, in the swirling snow, heart thudding so hard it ached, smiling like a complete idiot.

Chapter Text

Sanemi’s smile refused to fade, no matter how hard he tried to school his expression. The snow drifted quietly around him, soft flakes settling on his shoulders, melting against the heat rising under his skin. Giyu had already stepped inside, the sliding door clicking shut behind him, but Sanemi stayed rooted to the spot, watching the empty doorway like a fool waiting for a miracle.

He was about to head in when he heard it.

A soft shuffle.
A hesitant breath.
The faintest creak of wood.

Sanemi’s head snapped up just in time to see the door slide open again, only a hand’s width at first. Giyu peeked through the gap, half his face hidden in shadow, blue eyes glancing down instead of at him.

Sanemi’s heart tripped over itself.

Giyu lingered there, unmoving, caught between leaving and returning. His fingers tightened on the frame, knuckles white, as if he were wrestling himself into staying. Snow dusted his hair like tiny stars and the sight made something unbearably tender bloom in Sanemi’s chest.

Giyu looked up, finally meeting his eyes.

“…Shinazugawa?” His voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the winter air.

Sanemi took a breath, steady and slow. “Yeah?”

Giyu stepped out again, just a small step, like he was testing the ground. He didn’t move closer, but he didn’t retreat either. His cheeks were still pink, the colour spreading down to his throat.

“Why are you not coming inside?” Giyu asked, eyes drifting away again. “You look cold.”

Sanemi almost laughed, almost burst from the warmth flooding through him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re an idiot,” Giyu whispered, but there was nothing sharp in it this time...only softness...only concern...only… him...

Sanemi took a step forward. Giyu took a half-step back, then forced himself to stop, fingers curling at his sides like he was fighting old instincts. Sanemi slowed, giving him space, giving him time, watching the way Giyu breathed in and out like he was preparing to jump into water that scared him.

When Sanemi reached him, he didn’t touch. He just stood close enough that their breaths mingled in the cold air.

Giyu’s eyes flicked up to meet his, a trembling flash of blue.

“…Shinazugawa,” he said again, quieter. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Sanemi asked softly.

Giyu swallowed, the movement small and tight, the kind that made Sanemi’s chest ache.

“For saying it,” Giyu murmured. “Even though… I don’t know what to do with it yet.”

Sanemi’s breath caught. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Giyu’s eyes widened a little, as if that simple truth had loosened something inside him. He looked away, flustered, but instead of walking off, he reached out. His fingers brushed Sanemi’s wrist, tentative, barely a touch, but enough to send warmth surging up Sanemi’s arm.

“This is all I can do right now,” Giyu whispered.

Sanemi looked down at the gentle contact, the tremble in Giyu’s fingers, the courage it took for him to initiate even this. He turned his wrist slightly, letting their fingers brush again, slow and careful.

“That’s more than enough,” he said.

Giyu finally met his eyes again, and for a moment the world held its breath. Snow swirled around them, the cold forgotten, the air warm with something new and fragile and terrifyingly beautiful.

Giyu opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say more, but instead he just squeezed Sanemi’s wrist once, feather-light, and stepped inside.

Sanemi followed, heart full, steps slow, feeling as if he were crossing into something he had been waiting for all his life.

Obanai first noticed it in the quiet of late afternoon, when the sun had dipped low enough to spill warm gold across the engawa. The house felt unusually still. Sanemi’s footsteps had faded somewhere deeper inside, leaving only the soft creak of wood and the hushed sigh of winter air.

Giyu was outside.

Obanai found him sitting on the edge of the engawa, feet hovering above the frost-kissed ground. The sunlight softened the dark strands of his hair and painted faint colour across his pale cheeks. He looked lost in thought, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the snow-laden branches shifting in the breeze.

Obanai stepped closer. Kaburamaru shifted along his shoulder, tongue flicking out in a curious greeting.

Giyu looked up. His eyes softened.

“Iguro,” he said. It was only his name but yet the sound of his name in Giyu’s voice warmed him more than the sun could.

Obanai sat beside him, leaving a breath of space. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him, far enough that Giyu would not be startled.

For several moments, neither spoke. The silence wrapped around them gently, the kind that never felt like pressure. 

Giyu was the one who broke it.

“You know I am perfectly fine, and I can start training.” He said quietly. Obanai blinked.

“But you still had fever last night?” Obanai objected

Giyu flushed the faintest shade of pink.

“I don’t know why I got the fever, but I usually run hot, and I was in the forest for two days and I was absolutely fine, I rarely ever fall sick. I am not as delicate as you both think.” Giyu complained as he frowned at Obanai. Obanai closed his eyes, sub-consciously he knew that Giyu was strong and even though he for some reason thought that he was not a hashira…Giyu was a damn good one. And as much as it had irked him in the past knowing that Giyu was stronger than him now it only made him feel proud that Giyu was stronger than him. But he liked this side of Giyu, the one who was comfortable with him enough to complain even thought it was about him.

A small smile tugged at Obanai’s lips behind the bandages. He angled his body a little toward Giyu.

“I know that but considering the past events I think you should give your body some rest that is all I am saying. We are off missions for some time now till Oyakata-sama goes through all the information in that box so till then rest and take advantage of the rare time off.”

“Hmm…” Giyu mumbled.

“Do you think that we will be able to finish Muzan off with the information?” Giyu asked, his voice so soft Obanai almost missed the words.

“I am not sure, it is not going to be easy either way and the way things occurred in that forest I am inclined to believe that maybe the time has come to tip scales back in our favour.” Obanai said.

Giyu did not say anything but gave a small secretive smile, like he knew something that they did not know. One day he promised in his heart Obanai was going to get to the root of all secrets that Giyu held close to his heart. Warmth unfurled under Obanai’s ribs, as gazed at Giyu unashamed, then he decided to confess the thing that had been troubling him since the day they had confessed.

“Tomioka,” Obanai said softly. “You know… you do not have to choose between us.”

Giyu’s eyes widened, his breath catching like a startled swallow.

“I’m not asking for anything,” Obanai continued, his voice low, steady, honest. “I’m only saying… you do not have to make that decision, if you want both of us then we are yours...”

Giyu’s fingers twitched against his thigh, as if something inside him had cracked open a little.

“I… don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispered.

“You do not have to.” Obanai let his hand hover by Giyu’s for a heartbeat. “You only have to feel.”

Slowly, painfully slowly, Giyu turned his hand and let his fingers brush Obanai’s. It was soft barely there.

Obanai’s heart thudded once, sharp and bright.

Giyu took a breath that shivered in the cold air, and when he spoke again, his voice was almost inaudible.

“Earlier… when you said I don’t have to choose…” He swallowed. “It still is difficult for me to believe that you like me?”

Obanai held still, breath steadying.

“You can wait and see for I will show that I am serious about you…this…about us.” Obanai stated

Giyu froze, then looked at him with a raw, fragile expression that hit Obanai like a blade through silk.

“You… mean it?”

“I would not say it if I did not.”

Giyu’s eyes softened, something warm shimmered in them, unguarded and trembling, then they turned resolute as if he had come to a decision. His fingers slid more firmly against Obanai’s, their hands meeting palm to palm.

“Obanai, there is something that you should know…about me…before this goes…” Giyu waved his hand, the words…'this goes any further’…left unsaid in the air.

“Tomioka, if you feel it is something that we should know then we’ll listen and then nothing will change.” Obanai reassured him and that was the truth nothing that Giyu said would ever change his opinion of him. And when Giyu exhaled a shaky breath and let his shoulder rest lightly against Obanai’s, the world around them seemed to settle into something quiet and right. The winter air felt a little warmer, the light a little softer, and Obanai let his eyes fall half-shut, memorizing the weight of Giyu beside him, the way their hands rested together between them.

That night, after dinner, Giyu sat by the brazier with Kaburamaru draped across his shoulder. The flames licked quietly at the charcoal, their glow warming the lines of his face. Sanemi and Obanai sat opposite him, both still in uniform, both watching him with the kind of stillness that only came from concern.

Giyu looked…strained. As if something inside him had been pulled too tight for too long.

Obanai knew, instinctively, that whatever Giyu was about to say would not be small. There were no clean pasts between the three of them. Not a single one.

“Tomioka,” Sanemi said, voice low, surprisingly gentle. “Just tell us.”

Giyu swallowed once, hard. His eyes stayed fixed on the tatami, unfocused, hands dangling uselessly at his sides. His fingers trembled in a way that made Obanai’s throat tighten.

“I need to tell you something,” Giyu whispered. “Something I should have said long ago. Something that… might change how you see me.”

Obanai leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “We are here,” he said softly.

Giyu’s eyes fluttered shut as a shudder passed through him, fragile as an old wound reopening.

“Only Oyakata-sama and Amane-san know,” he said. His chest rose too fast, too shallow.

Sanemi’s hands curled into fists, but his voice stayed steady. “Go on.”

The fire crackled softly. Giyu’s shadow shook on the tatami.

“During the final selection,” he began, voice barely holding together, “I was defeated by the Hand Demon. I stayed unconscious for the rest of the trial. Sabito…he killed every demon except one, the one who killed him.”

Giyu’s throat bobbed.

“When I woke next, I was in a small room I did not recognize. Only a Kakushi was there. I never saw his face. He kept saying he was sorry and that he had no choice and at that time I didn’t understand.”

His fists tightened in the fabric of his yukata.

Obanai felt his pulse spike, but he forced himself still. Let Giyu speak. Do not interrupt.

“I was dazed. I thought he was helping me.” Giyu’s voice thinned to a whisper. “I didn’t know what he planned. I didn’t understand why my limbs felt heavy or why everything hurt.” His next words fell like stones thrown into deep water.

“He sold me.”

The brazier popped. No one breathed.

“He sold me to a brothel in the nearest town,” Giyu continued, voice hollow. “He knew I was an omega.”

A crack rippled through his composure...just a breath, a moment...but he pushed on.

“The men there were rough. There were… many. I was injured, feverish, weak. I couldn’t fight. I could barely stay awake.” He swallowed, face blank with the memory of too much pain. “I don’t remember everything, and sometimes I wish I remembered even less.”

A long silence stretched before he whispered:

“Amane-san found me about a month later. I don’t know how. She never told me. She took me away, cared for me, helped me heal. Only she and Oyakata-sama ever knew that I was an omega maybe they went searching for me when they did not find me…I don’t know I never asked them what they had to do to get me out.”

His voice steadied, eerily calm, like someone who had run out of tears years ago.

“And even now… sometimes I feel dirty…used. Like I am a fraud for taking Sabito’s place knowing that I am weak pretending to be strong.” He lifted his gaze, finally, and it hurt Obanai to see how empty it looked. It scared Obanai at how calm Giyu was, there was no hint of tears or quickening of breaths it was like he had cried all the tears he could for it all.

“You both deserve to know, you deserve someone clean.”

Kaburamaru flicked its tongue against Giyu’s cheek, sensing Obanai’s sharp anger, his heartbreak, his rage on Giyu’s behalf. But Giyu sat rigid, bracing for rejection like a soldier waiting for a blade.

Sanemi moved first.

Slowly, deliberately, so Giyu could see him coming and wouldn't flinch.

He stopped in front of him, voice low and steady.

“Tomioka,” he said. “Look at me.”

Giyu hesitated… then obeyed.

Sanemi lifted his hands, pausing just before touching him. When Giyu gave a tiny nod, Sanemi cupped his jaw, thumbs brushing his cheekbones with reverence.

“None of that makes you dirty,” Sanemi said. “None of it makes you less.”

Giyu’s breath caught, fragile and aching.

Sanemi’s voice softened further, warm enough to crack stone.

“You’re not dirty. You didn’t choose any of that. And honestly…” He exhaled shakily. “I don’t care. I’m not clean either.”

Giyu blinked, startled.

“My dad was an abusive piece of shit who left us to fend for ourselves, and I thought that I could live our life in peace.” Sanemi said bluntly, even though his eyes shone with old pain.

“But life suck and it is cruel. My mother turned into a demon. She killed my little brothers and sisters. And I...” His voice faltered. “I had to kill her to save Genya.”

Giyu’s shock shattered into raw empathy. He reached out with trembling hands and pulled Sanemi into a fierce, breathless hug.

Obanai stood, his heart hammered so hard his ribs hurt. Fear, grief, shame, love...everything tangled until he could barely breathe. But if Giyu had bared himself like this and Obanai would not hide.

He stepped to Giyu’s other side.

“Tomioka,” he murmured.

Giyu looked up from Sanemi’s shoulder, eyes soft and open in a way that made Obanai feel like his ribs would break.

“I was born to a family that worshipped a serpent demon,” Obanai said. “Every boy that was born was sacrificed to her immediately. But I was spared….I was only spared because of my eyes; they kept me in a cage most of my childhood.”

He unwrapped his bandages slowly...only because Giyu had given him the courage.

“My mouth was slashed open so I would look more like her, they fed her my blood. I lived in constant fear and one day I stole a hairpin from my sister and then I spent months scratching a hole in the wood before I escaped.”

His voice wavered.

“She killed my family that night. She chased me and I would’ve died… if not for Rengoku-san. He saved me by killing that demon. I have spent every day since killing demons, trying to clean my tainted blood.”

He didn’t look away from Giyu. Giyu, who had not cried for his own pain, now had tears sliding silently down his cheeks for theirs.

He reached with shaky arms and pulled Obanai into the embrace.

Obanai went willingly...like a man starved, he didn’t care that he was smashed against Sanemi. He didn’t care that his breath shook. He pressed his face into Giyu’s shoulder, breathing in the soft petrichor scent that always made him feel safe... maybe it was him trembling or maybe they were all trembling....he didnt know nor did he care.

But in that tight, messy, desperate embrace...three men clinging to each other with the weight of stolen childhoods and unbearable wounds...they were no longer broken and alone.

Chapter Text

Obanai was twirling the kumihimo braids in his hands, as he sat on the roof of the water estate. Kaburamaru had abandoned him in favour of Giyu…the traitor. But he could understand the need to be close to Giyu and sometimes he wished that he was Kaburamaru and slither his way up Giyu’s arm and settle on his neck. Obanai sighed and stroked the soft silk of the yellow and green braid.

Obanai still trembled at the easy acceptance of both Giyu and Sanemi though Sanemi had known the gist of it he had never known the full details of it all. His childhood if it could be called that, Giyu’s trauma from his childhood till now and Sanemi’s guilt of killing his mother…what a trio they made. They had clung to each other silently in their shared pain for each of them had silently suffered, it had brought them closer in ways that Obanai had never imagined.

His hand clenched around the braid and he let out another sigh. The feeling of guilt of having hated Giyu before for his perceived sins that Giyu was never guilty of. He had never been proud…he had never thought of himself as above as anyone, but Obanai hadn’t even given him a chance and if they hadn’t come across an injured Giyu months back then he was afraid that he would have died of his misconceptions. Obanai shook his head it was now in the past and now he wanted move forward and waited impatiently for the day when Giyu would accept him with open arms, he sighed again.

“What’s got you sighing so much Obanai?” Sanemi’s voice interrupted his reverie; he didn’t look up from the braids.

“Nothing.”

Sanemi came and sat beside him and eyed the braids in his hands.

“What’s that?”

“Kumihimo braids I got them before Tomioka cut his hair.”

Sanemi took…snatched them from Obanai’s hands and froze his eyes widened and then he looked up at Obanai in surprise. Confused Obanai asked.

“What?”

“I can understand yellow and green, I can also understand blue but why lavender?”

“Lavender?” Obanai asked looking even more confused. Sanemi held the blue one up and to Obanai’s horror he realized that blue one was intertwined with lavender silk threads.

“Ah…”

“Thank you Obanai I didn’t know you wanted me also.” Sanemi replied with a smirk pretending to wipe his eyes. Obanai swiped at him as Sanemi ducked away now laughing.

“Shut up...I am partially blind.” Obanai deadpanned…yup that is what he was going to go with…

“Yes…yes…that is exactly what happened.” Sanemi said still chuckling.

“You’re an asshole Shinazugawa.”

“I am an angel, Iguro.” Sanemi refuted his annoying smirk in place, Obanai rolled his eyes but something blue caught the edge of his vision and he turned.

Giyu stepped out of the estate, soft scarf wrapped around his neck, snow drifting into his short hair, Obanai’s breath hitched.

“Where is he going?” he murmured.

“Let’s follow,” Sanemi said immediately.

Obanai didn’t protest. They tracked him over roofs, then trees, until Giyu paused near the village road.

“You know,” he said without turning, “you two can walk with me instead of following like thieves.”

Obanai flushed and dropped from the tree. Sanemi followed, just as red. They fell into step beside Giyu who shook his head, the faintest hint of fondness in the gesture.

They had gotten their salary but unlike him who had the Kakushi stock his estate it looked like Giyu did his own shopping and knowing what he did now he could understand the complete absence of Kakushi from the water estate a thing that had puzzled him in the start. Giyu led them into the village, stopping at stalls, buying meat and groceries. They paid despite his protests.

Obanai watched him softly as they walked, Giyu didn’t know how to accept being taken care of. And they followed a now frowning Giyu to a tailor who greeted him warmly.

“Tomioka-san, your order is ready.”

“Thank you, Furuya-san.” Tomioka said as he paid the man. Obanai was pleased that Tomioka was buying clothes for himself but was soon frowning as he saw that everything were sizes too small for Giyu.

“For whom are these yukatas and pants for Tomioka?” Sanemi asked tightly.

“Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke, Nezuko and some other kids that I know.” Giyu replied completely oblivious to the fact that the two alphas were now frowning behind him. Obanai felt something twist inside him.

“So, this is where your salary goes,” he said quietly.

“Those brats get a salary you know.” Sanemi said.

“I know they do but they are orphans, and I want them to have a stable place that they can call home, where they do not have to worry about food or clothes. They already are out there risking their lives, and this is the least I can do.” Giyu explained.

And while Obanai couldn’t refute that did not mean Giyu had to live in the state of hardship.

“That is very kind of you Tomioka but what I don’t understand is why do you not treat yourself with same kindness.”

“I have everything I need.” Giyu protested.

“Right…” Sanemi said the anger reflecting in his eyes, before he could snap, Obanai reached forward and held Sanemi’s elbow.

“Tomioka…” Obanai sighed.

“Good thing we are here now, and you are going to wear everything that we buy for you.” He continued, Giyu raised his eyebrow like he would like to see how Obanai was going to make him comply…well he had a few ideas. Obanai smiled behind his bandages and followed Giyu out of the shop.

Giyu then proceeded to stop at few badly delipidated houses, giving then a portion of his salary and by the time they got back to Water Estate, his pouch was almost empty.

“Idiot omega,” Sanemi muttered under his breath.

But Obanai… Obanai could only look at Giyu’s quiet profile, snow melting against his skin, and feel something ache in his chest. And his tenderness turned dangerously close to devotion.

It was a few days after the trip to the village when Obanai paused at the entrance gazing at Giyu who was kneeling near the railing, repairing the wooden sheath of one of his spare swords, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hair brushing his cheek with every lowered tilt of his head.

His heart stuttered the way it always did now. Giyu looked so peaceful like this. So unaware of how much space he took up in Obanai’s chest. Kaburamaru lifted his head from Obanai’s shoulder and flicked his tongue, as if urging him forward.

“Alright,” Obanai muttered under his breath. “I’m going.”

He stepped onto the engawa, the package held carefully in both hands. Giyu glanced up, surprised.

“Obanai? You’re back.”

 “I… brought something.” Obanai cleared his throat.

Giyu set his tools aside. “For me?”

“Yes.” Obanai swallowed, giving a hesitant nod he said.

He held out the wrapped bundle. The paper was simple, but the string was tied with careful precision, the knot neat enough that even Giyu’s eyes softened at the sight.

When Giyu carefully opened it taking care not to rip the paper, Obanai watched every flicker of emotion on his face. The paper opened to reveal a formal kimono, a beautiful Iromontsuki Haori Hakama. In a soft, muted green almost turquoise, with the faintest hint of pale yellow woven into the base made of Omeshi cloth. Gentle colours, warm colours…colours that matched the kumihimo braid Obanai had place right on top of the Iromontsuki Haori Hakama.

Giyu ran his fingers over the soft fabric, slow and reverent.

“Iguro,” he said quietly. “Why?”

Obanai’s ears went red instantly. Then the flush crept to his cheeks, to the edge of his bandages, down his throat. He looked away, jaw tight, before forcing himself to meet Giyu’s eyes.

“It’s…” He exhaled slowly. “It’s a courting gift.”

Giyu blinked, his eyes widened and Obanai could feel his breath quickening  and before he could freak out over it.

“I…I wanted to show you that I am serious when I said I liked you. You are strong, kind beautiful and everything I never knew I wanted in my partner. I know I wasn’t good to you before but please will you let me show it you…please…will you accept it?”

“You do not mind having me as your omega after what I told you?” Giyu asked his voice blank.

“No, never what happened to you doesn’t make you dirty or used, in fact it makes me see how strong you are so do not ever think that you do not deserve it all. You do…you deserve the world, and I hope I am allowed to be by your side that is all.” Obanai explained and he hoped it would be enough for Giyu to see past his insecurities.

Giyu’s breath left him, a small, startled sound, his ears turned pink. Obanai, feeling his courage twist into panic, moved before he could think. In one swift motion, he stepped closer, reached up, and pressed the lightest, quickest kiss to Giyu’s forehead. More a touch than a kiss, a brush of warmth, gone in an instant.

Then he froze.

Backed away half a step.

And dared not to look at Giyu afraid of rejection.

Giyu’s eyes were wide. His cheeks flushed a deep, beautiful red that spread to the tips of his ears. His lips parted just slightly, breath caught in his throat. But what hit Obanai hardest…was the expression.

Soft…pleased…almost glowing.

“Iguro,” Giyu whispered voice warm in a way Obanai had heard the night when Giyu had called him beautiful.

“Thank you, it is very beautiful, but can you give me some time to think about it all. I feel everything is moving forward too soon.”

Obanai’s heart nearly stopped. He fought the urge to hide behind his bandages and instead managed barely to nod. Selfish…selfish that is what he was, but he couldn’t make himself regret his decision of either confessing his feelings or giving him the courting gift.

“Sure.”

Sanemi had spent three nights on the engawa, long after Giyu and Obanai had fallen asleep, hunched over a small block of smooth hinoki wood. His fingers were blistered despite years of weapon work, and the citrusy scent of shaved hinoki clung to his clothes. He worked with a small knife Genya had gifted him the last time he had visited him and shaped the wood slowly, not trusting himself to rush something meant for Giyu.

He didn’t know Obanai had already given his own gift. He didn’t know Giyu had been kissed on the forehead. Sanemi only knew one thing; he needed to give Giyu something real…something he could hold…something that meant I survived another day and came home to you.

By morning the little figurine was done. A carved water droplet, smooth on one side and rough on the other, with a tiny lightning-shaped crack through the center. The mark was deliberate; Sanemi’s own symbol etched into the wood, water and wind meeting.

He found Giyu by the empty koi pond, staring at it blankly and Sanemi vowed in that moment to fill the pond. The early sun softened the edges of Giyu’s profile, turning him into something quiet and breathtaking. Sanemi stopped a few steps behind him, suddenly unsure.

“Tomioka,” he called, softer than he meant to.

Giyu turned, expression calm but a little curious. “Shinazugawa?”

Sanemi marched the last few steps before he lost his nerve and thrust his closed fist forward.

“Here.”

Giyu blinked. “What is it?”

“It’s… just take it.”

Giyu stretched his hand, Sanemi laid the figurine carefully into Giyu’s hand and tried not to look like he wanted to jump into the pond and drown himself with embarrassment.

The moment the wood touched Giyu’s palms, his eyes softened. He brushed his thumb gently over the carved surface, lingering on the lightning-shaped mark.

“You carved this,” Giyu said quietly.

Sanemi’s ears burned. “It’s not that good.”

“It’s beautiful,” Giyu murmured, holding it with both hands as if it were delicate. “What does it mean?”

Sanemi swallowed, his throat dry, his voice trembling.

“It’s… a courting token,” he said at last.

“Old tradition you know, where alphas carve something for the omega, they want to… to stay with…to protect…to come back to.”

Giyu froze, as he stared at Sanemi and Sanemi looked away, jaw tight.

“The rough half is me; the soft half is you. The crack is where we meet. I know it’s dumb but…”

“It’s not dumb.” Giyu’s voice was soft, almost fragile. “It’s… meaningful.”

He lifted the figurine to his chest, holding it like something precious...something to be loved and cherished.

“Sanemi,” he whispered, “I don’t know if I deserve this.”

“And are you sure you want me after what I told you? And what if I can’t choose between you and Iguro?” Giyu continued his blue eyes scrutinizing him, like he was trying to look into Sanemi’s soul. Sanemi stepped closer…slow, deliberate, careful like Giyu was a skittish deer he didn’t want to scare.

“Yes, I said the same thing that day too. I don’t care and you…you deserve better. And I cannot imagine us without Obanai’s steady presence. So, whatever you decide I…we will go with it.”  he said, voice steadier now, not saying just how devastating it would be if Giyu would go ahead and choose either of them or outright reject them both.

Giyu’s breath hitched, they stood still as Sanemi watched Giyu and Giyu stared at the figurine for a long time.

“Thank you,” Giyu whispered. ““It is very thoughtful, but can you give me some time to think about it all. I feel everything is moving forward too soon.”

“Sure.” Sanemi whispered not knowing that Giyu had said the exact same thing to Obanai.

Giyu had asked for time alone, Sanemi and Obanai had only stepped back after arguing, hovering, refusing to leave until he practically pushed them out of his door. Even then he heard their footsteps linger in the hall, their scents pressed stubborn and warm against the shoji as if they could shield him from silence itself.

Their protectiveness should not have made his chest ache like this…yet it did. It warmed him…it frightened him and it made him feel seen in a way he had spent years convincing himself he did not deserve. He sank onto the tatami, breath stumbling as thoughts crashed into him.

Sanemi, who had been robbed of everything, beaten by a father who should have sheltered him, abandoned, and then when Sanemi was gifted a single fragile moment of peace… only for a demon to rip it away. Giyu’s stomach twisted imagining Sanemi…small, furious, terrified...watching his siblings die by their own mother’s hands. And Sanemi forced to do what no child should ever have to do.

Giyu pressed a hand to his mouth to hold back a sound.

Then Obanai, a child who had never seen light, locked in a cage like a thing instead of a boy, waiting day after day to be devoured, knowing the only reason he lived was to be used later. Compared to that, Giyu realized he had been blessed. He had been loved by his parents. He had been adored his sister. Her death had shattered him, yes, but he had still known warmth...real warmth...before the world turned cold. The thought of Obanai living his entire childhood without ever knowing that made Giyu’s heart curl painfully in on itself.

And then… himself, and here he was, used and thrown away…a murderer…a fake hashira…but they still wanted him despite everything and that astounded him. Giyu couldn’t understand the reason and staring at the kimono and the hinoki figurine he found himself not caring for the reason. His gaze drifted to their gifts: the soft kimono folded with care, and Sanemi’s hinoki figurine warm from his hand. Gifts meant for him, he could see the thought and care that Sanemi and Obanai had put into them and his throat constricted.

He curled over them, holding the fabric and the figurine to his chest as if they were lifelines, maybe they were. Because for the first time he allowed a fragile, trembling hope to settle inside his heart. They had listened, they had not looked away and they had not flinched away from him. Every question he had asked them, every ugly truth he had offered, every piece of shame he tried to push between them...neither of them wavered, neither of them flinched away from him, they had met everything with raw truth and care.

Giyu swallowed hard, rubbing the empty ache beneath his stomach and he prayed like he did every night for his child who would never be born to him. He prayed to Mizuhanome Kami and hoped that she would guide his child’s soul to a gentler life in its next birth. Then he prayed for courage for himself…courage to believe Sanemi and Obanai…courage to let them close.

Courage to not drown in loneliness again… because he knew now that if he lost either of them, it would destroy him. He wiped tears he hadn’t realized were sliding down his face. Enough, he had done enough of thinking and enough of doubting. For once in his life, he wanted to trust what was right before him. He summoned Kanzaburo and sent the message before he could talk himself out of it.

Giyu expected Kanzaburo to take time or to forget to inform one of them but this time the crow had done his job perfectly. Taking it as a sign Giyu beamed at the panting alphas in his doorway, like they had run the entire district.

They froze…truly froze...like a prey caught in moonlight.

Sanemi’s mouth fell open, Obanai’s pupils blew wide. And for a heartbeat Giyu felt shy, embarrassed at the intensity of their stunned awe. They entered quietly, carefully, almost reverently. Then they knelt before him in perfect Seiza, heads bowed. The sight made his chest sting...and he wondered was he truly deserving of this respect...

“I… thank you,” Giyu whispered, voice trembling. “Iguro, Shinazugawa. I loved both of your courting gifts. And I called you here to give you, my answer.”

He saw them panic for a second and wondered what part of his expression or stance made them wary of his answer…idiots…Giyu thought with helpless affection. He raised his hand before either could say anything.

“I accept your courting,” he said, breath shaking but steady. “Both of you. I… I like you both. And if you want to...” He never got to finish the sentence. Because two strong bodies crashed into him at once, nearly knocking him flat, arms wrapping around him with desperate force. The warmth…the trembling relief so thick that it made Giyu’s own breath break apart.

His hands slid up their backs, holding them just as tightly, he heard Sanemi choke on a breath, he felt Obanai bury his face against his shoulder. And Giyu wondered in a dazed, aching way if he had truly been so cold that they never realized how much he cared. He would have to tell them more, show them more. It terrified him, this kind of vulnerability. But now… he felt brave enough to try, for them, he could be brave.

Sanemi’s arms were locked around him, face pressed into Giyu’s neck as if he could anchor himself there forever. Obanai remained just as close on the other side, breath warm against Giyu’s collarbone, fingers clutching his sleeve like he was afraid Giyu might vanish if he let go.

The warmth of their bodies, the trembling in their shoulders, the weight of their relief… Giyu felt himself soften completely, swallowed by it, steadied by it.

It was Sanemi who broke first.

He pulled back only enough to look at Giyu, his cheeks flushed pink, his eyes bright and uncertain in a way Giyu had never seen before.

“Can I…” Sanemi swallowed, his voice scratched like torn paper. “Can I kiss you?”

Giyu blinked at him, heat sparking beneath his skin.

“Yes,” he whispered, unable to look away from the hope trembling in Sanemi’s gaze.

Sanemi didn’t lunge the way Giyu expected. He moved slowly, giving Giyu time to refuse...time that Giyu didn’t use. Their lips met in a gentle, almost reverent brush, Sanemi’s breath shaking as if this was something he had dreamed of for too long. Giyu leaned into it, fingers curling softly into Sanemi’s white haori, letting the kiss deepen only a little, letting Sanemi taste his acceptance.

When they parted, Sanemi looked undone.

But the moment Giyu leaned away from him, he felt Obanai’s stare...sharp, scorching, simmering with something like jealousy.

Obanai wasn’t glaring at Sanemi, he was aching. He wanted his turn, but he didn’t know how to ask. Giyu’s heart squeezed in warmth.

So, he turned toward Obanai, tilting his head slightly, offering the smallest, shyest invitation...just for him and the effect was instant. Obanai inhaled sharply, colour rushing to his pale cheeks, and his hands lifted to cup Giyu’s face with a care so delicate it made Giyu’s eyes sting. With shaking fingers, he pulled at the end of his bandages, Giyu’s eyes widened.

Obanai unwrapped them slowly, deliberately, letting the linen fall away until his face...his full mouth, his scar, his vulnerability...was completely bare.

He looked terrified, but Giyu touched his cheek, gentle as water again making a vow to let Obanai know…to let them both know that he cared and that he wanted them equally.

“Tomioka,” Obanai breathed, voice cracking just once.

Then he kissed him.

The kiss wasn't like Sanemi's, Obanai kissed him with desperate hunger held tightly inside a cage of restraint. His lips moved with fervour, with trembling devotion, with a kind of claiming he was too shy to voice aloud. Giyu melted, fingers sliding up Obanai’s arms and into his hair as Obanai pressed closer.

Obanai’s breath broke as they pulled away. But Obanai didn’t give him time before he kissed Giyu again...fiercer this time, all restraint dissolving under the warmth of Giyu’s hands. Their mouths met in a deep, consuming kiss, Obanai’s grip tightening at Giyu’s waist as if this was the first time in his life someone had seen him fully and not recoiled.

And when Obanai finally broke away, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with wonder and disbelief, Sanemi did not allow even a heartbeat of silence to settle between them. He leaned in without a word. Giyu’s hand hovered, unsure for a single fluttering second before he finally rested it gently at the nape of Sanemi’s neck, his fingers threading into the short white hair in a gesture so quiet and tender it made Sanemi’s breath catch against his mouth.

When they eventually drew apart, chests rising and falling in uneven rhythm, their breaths mingling in the warm space between their mouths, Giyu found himself held between them like a single shared heartbeat, Sanemi on one side and Obanai on the other, and for the first time in years, all three of them allowed themselves to simply exist in that breathless. A trembling moment where none of their scars or histories mattered and the only thing that remained was the undeniable truth of their affection for one another.

Chapter Text

For a while, none of them moved, their breaths settling in slow, uneven waves as the night air pressed warm and soft around them. Giyu could feel the faint tremor in Obanai’s fingers where they still rested at his waist, the quiet steadiness in Sanemi’s palm on his shoulder. It struck Giyu then, in a way that reached far beneath the surface, how carefully both of them held him, how neither demanded more than what he chose to give, even as desire shimmered like heat between all three of them.

Sanemi was the first to find his voice, though it came out rougher than he intended, a low scrape that seemed torn from somewhere deep.

“You’re… you’re really okay with this,” he said, not a question but something fragile that resembled hope. He leaned back just enough to look at Giyu properly, the lavender in his eyes almost gone like he was searing Giyu’s face to his mind.

Giyu nodded, his breath still unsteady but his answer steady in a way that made both of them still.

“I am,” he said, and the simplicity of it carried more weight than anything he could have added. “I wouldn’t have said that otherwise.”

Obanai let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but it broke halfway, too soft, too shaken. His mismatched eyes glimmered in the dim light, the kind of brightness that came when a person tried not to show how deeply something mattered.

“Then we’ll… not be hesitant about it anymore.” he murmured, though there was a faint tremor that betrayed how badly all the things that he wanted to do with Giyu.

Giyu blinked at him,  surprise flickering across his face, and his voice came out incredulous as he asked,

“You both were being hesitant before?”

Sanemi snorted and realized with a jolt just how easily he was able to read Giyu now. He cursed his past self for every moment he had failed to see how deeply he wanted the man in front of him, and for a heartbeat he found himself drowning in the blue of Giyu’s eyes, wanting nothing more than to spend a lifetime watching those eyes soften for him alone. A wild, desperate wish surged through him, the wish to throw away tradition, ignore courting, and marry Giyu on the spot, but he steadied himself with effort, choosing instead to savour every moment he would be allowed to stand beside him.

“Yes.” Obanai said blandly, , his tone flat but his fingers tightening around Giyu’s waist.

“Shameless.” Giyu scoffed but there was no heat in it.

“If you are calling us shameless,” Sanemi drawled, his voice dropping into a husky growl laced with want, “then I can show you just how shameless I can be.” The heat in his voice sent a flush racing up Giyu’s throat, colouring him to the very roots of his hair, and Sanemi dipped his head to nuzzle the pale skin at Giyu’s throat, inhaling softly as goosebumps rose in a visible wave across Giyu’s skin. The dormant warmth beneath Giyu’s flesh surged like a tide, and he swallowed, dry and stifled, wanting what Sanemi wanted with an ache he did not yet know how to voice. So, he did what he did best…he stayed silent.

Obanai smiled as he watched Giyu shy away from Sanemi and let it be, unwilling to overwhelm the omega when the night already brimmed with so much that was new and tender. He was quite satisfied watching the two and found himself feeling at peace like he had never in his life. Giyu turned to look at Obanai, still incredulous paused and his expression softened in wonder and without thinking he blurted out.

“You’re so beautiful Iguro…”

The realization of what he had said struck him a heartbeat later; his eyes widened, he slapped a hand over his mouth, and he turned even redder, a flush blooming so intensely that Obanai felt his own breath falter. Obanai’s face heated as the words settled into his bones, and he had not expected to hear such sincerity from Giyu so openly, yet hearing it now made something in him unravel in the most fragile way. He smiled widened, almost glowing, and pressed a soft kiss to Giyu’s cheek, accepting the compliment with a quiet joy he had no intention of rejecting.

“And what about me,” Sanemi asked immediately, his voice bright with an eagerness he did not even try to hide, “am I beautiful too, Tomioka?”

Giyu let out a small whimper and buried his face in his hands, effectively dislodging both men from him, and Obanai shot Sanemi a flat, unimpressed glare.

“You truly cannot keep quiet, can you, Shinazugawa,” Obanai drawled.

“No, I cannot, and I refuse to let you be the only one getting compliments,” Sanemi complained, completely unrepentant.

“Shouldn’t you be the one giving compliments instead of demanding them,” Obanai countered with an eye roll so expressive it almost made Giyu groan.

“Of course I should,” Sanemi said, though he stopped there, his attention softening as he looked back at Giyu still hiding behind his hands. With surprising gentleness, he reached forward, pulling Giyu’s hands away and hooking a finger beneath his chin, lifting his face with a tenderness that made the air between them grow warm once more.

Sanemi held Giyu’s face between his hands as if he had been entrusted with something impossibly fragile, his thumb brushing along the curve of Giyu’s cheekbone with a tenderness that contradicted every rough edge he had ever shown the world. His voice dropped into something low and reverent, the words spilling out before he could restrain them,

“You have no idea how beautiful you are, Tomioka, and I am not talking about the kind of beauty people whisper about behind fans or scribble into poems, but the sort of beauty that steals the breath from a man who has spent his entire life thinking he does not deserve something soft to look at.”

Sanemi leaned closer, inhaling deeply at the warm space where Giyu’s neck met his shoulder, and the faint shiver that passed through him made his breath tremble as he continued,

“Every time you come near me, that petrichor scent of yours wraps around me like the first breath of air after a storm, the kind that washes everything clean and makes the world feel new again; like the warm rain on dry earth, it is the promise that I survived another day, it is the one scent that calms my damn instincts so much that I feel like I could sleep for a century if you stand beside me.”

He pulled back enough to meet Giyu’s eyes, voice softening with an honesty that almost hurt to speak aloud.

“And I love it, all of it, because it is yours, and because it makes me feel like there is something in this world meant just for me.”

Giyu’s breath caught, his lips parting in a soundless gasp as colour bled slowly across his pale skin, blooming high across his cheekbones and down the column of his throat. His fingers twitched where they rested against Sanemi’s yukata, uncertain whether to cling tighter or slip away, and his eyes darted down for a moment as if the intensity of being looked at with such raw adoration was almost too much to withstand. He swallowed, the motion small and shy, and when he tried to speak no words came out at first, only a faint, trembling exhale as if his chest had forgotten how to hold something so gentle without breaking.

Obanai, watching from just beside them, felt something complicated and warm coil low in his gut. The jealousy flickered only for a heartbeat, faint as a candle flame in a breeze, quickly swallowed by an unexpected sense of peace as he listened. He found himself thinking, with a quiet awe that he would never say aloud, that Sanemi was not wrong, because Giyu was beautiful in a way that made people want to soften their voices without even realizing it, a beauty woven from quiet strength and deep, aching kindness that could undo even the most hardened men.

Obanai’s fingers brushed Giyu’s back, and he murmured.

“I never knew Sanemi could be so eloquent, but he is right, you know. You have no idea how striking you are when you are not trying to hide.”

Giyu’s blush deepened to the tips of his ears, and he looked between them as if wondering when the world had become so overwhelming and so gentle at the same time. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, searching for something to say, something that would not sound foolish or too revealing or too grateful, until finally he exhaled and whispered a thought that always seemed to be present whenever he saw Sanemi nowadays.

“You… you look like a tennin, Shinazugawa,” he said, the words soft and trembling with sincerity and thought it felt inadequete compared to what Sanemi said but this was all he could say in this moment..

Sanemi’s breath stilled, Obanai’s eyes widened the slightest bit, and this time Giyu did not shy away. A moment of thick, reverent silence lingered between them, the kind that could easily tilt into heat again if any of them so much as breathed the wrong way. Giyu, caught between two alphas staring at him like he had personally dragged the moon down for them, looked seconds away from combusting. His scent flared sweet and warm without his permission, and both Sanemi and Obanai inhaled at the same time.

“Stop smelling me,” he blurted, flustered beyond reason as he pushed lightly at Sanemi’s chest with one hand and Obanai’s shoulder with the other. “You two look like starving wolves…go away.”

Sanemi choked on a laugh, leaning back just enough to smirk.

“Go away? In my own courting?” he asked, feigning deep offense. “Tomioka, after everything we just shared? Really?”

Obanai snorted so quietly it barely counted as sound, but the amusement in his eyes gave him away. He pulled back only an inch, tilting his head like Kaburamaru when he was pretending to behave.

“You really want us to leave?” Obanai asked, his voice teasing.

“…No…” Giyu said meekly. Obanai nodded and buried his face his Giyu’s neck deciding to drown in his sweet scent.

“You both feel like home.” Giyu murmured finally in the quiet, making the two alphas tighten their hold on Giyu feeling the words settle in their very bones as it resonated with each of them.

Giyu was happy, in his quiet way he was happy, he still felt guilty for feeling happy…a feeling he didn’t think that would ever go away and it was too soon after all. There were moments where he cursed himself for allowing to accept the courting, but that moment did not last long. For it felt like if he made them wait, he would be hurting them, and he did not want to be a source of discomfort to anyone least of all Sanemi and Obanai.

He was watching Tanjiro practice with his new Nichirin sword. The kids were all healed and back in the water estate much to the displeasure of Sanemi and Obanai which Giyu found equally understandable and hilarious. But he would never tell them to leave, it was their home.

Sanemi and Obanai had taken Haganezuka away after he wanted to kill Inosuke who was now cowering near the koi pond still changing his sword to his liking. Giyu chuckled looking at the forlorn Inosuke but let him be.

Giyu watch Tanjiro practice the hinokami kagura and fissure of displeasure ran through him…there went his retirement plan…

“Tanjiro, how did you learn this breathing style?” Giyu asked, curiosity threading through his otherwise tense chest, a question he had never had the chance to voice before. Tanjiro paused, forehead glistening with sweat, and looked up at him.

“Giyu-san?”

Sanemi came in silently and sat next to Giyu leaving no space between them. Tanjiro ever perceptive looked between the two, shock evident on his face.

“Where is Iguro?” Giyu asked, choosing to ignore Tanjiro’s shock, they were bound to know since Sanemi and Obanai had decided that water estate was their new home.

“He took Haganezuka-san to lunch to calm him down and I came back here.” Sanemi answered.

“Okay.” Giyu said and then turned back to Tanjiro.

“I want to know how did you know about this breathing style?”

“Were you not the one who thought him this?” Sanemi asked surprised. Giyu looked at him and rolled his eyes…

“No, the only breathing style I know is water and that is what I wanted Tanjiro to learn and become next the water hashira, but he chose to learn a new breathing style.” Giyu complained, as eyed the now guilty-looking Tanjiro.

“Giyuuu-saaan.” He whined, like the kid he was.

“You were supposed to be my retirement plan you know.” Giyu continued and waved his hand like his future was bleak.

“And now it looks like I have to be the Water Hashira Kami knows for how long.”

Giyu felt, Sanemi’s hand on his waist and pinch, it took all the years of him being still to not flinch at that, lest he wanted to be embarrassed in front of Tanjiro, so he just opted to glare at Sanemi, who wasn’t even looking at him.

…Asshole…Giyu thought.

“My father used to do this every year, at first I thought it was a dance, it is only twelve forms, and he would dance from dawn till dusk every year.” Tanjiro said, completely deflecting Giyu’s attempt at guilting him to be the Water Hashira.

Giyu stared at Tanjiro for a while and then let go of his griping and also because he was curious about the Hinokami Kagura.

“Show me the dance.”

“All of the forms?” Tanjiro asked.

“Obviously.” Giyu said, Sanemi shifted his hand on Giyu’s waist openly, like he was staking a claim.

“Umm…” Tanjiro said, his eye on Sanemi’s hand.

Giyu turned to glare at Sanemi who was pretending to staring at his nails, like the conversation did not interest him at all.

“Ignore him and show me Tanjiro.” Giyu ordered, his voice flat.

“You sure?” Tanjiro asked, his voice holding a hint of protectiveness in it, to which Sanemi seemed to take offense at as he looked up and glared at Tanjiro.

“You think I need protection?” Giyu asked, now frowning he was seriously getting offended by the number of people that thought he needed protecting.

“No.” Tanjiro protested, rubbing his neck nervously sensing Giyu’s ire.

“You are strong I know, I have seen you kill the lower moon with a single strike but sometimes you allow people to insult you.”

Sanemi stiffened beside him, Giyu let him stew on it for a little while.

“Tanjiro, I am fine, and I cannot control people’s tongues but if someone does insult me, I will handle it in my way, so you don’t have to worry, okay?” Giyu explained, Tanjiro gave a hesitant nod.

“Great now show me and if you make me ask once again you will be training with Zenitsu from tomorrow.” Giyu threatened, Tanjiro straightened.

“No, I am fine training here, it is just that I have not mastered all the forms.” Tanjiro murmured, Giyu rolled his eyes but before he could say anything Tanjiro took position and began, each movement precise, flowing with the grace and heat of Hinokami Kagura.

Tanjiro’s breathing style unfolded before Giyu with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, the Hinokami Kagura moving through him like fire lapping against water, each form a flicker of heat and light captured in motion. His body twisted and flowed with a rhythm both precise and fluid, the flames of his ancestor’s dance echoing through every strike, every step, every turn of his blade.

He could see the raw power in the movements even though Tanjiro was new to use this style. Giyu glanced at Sanemi and despite previously pretending to be disinterested he now looked as mesmerized as him. Pleased Giyu watched Tanjiro complete the forms that he knew and by the time he stopped he fell to the ground, breathing heavily.

“Tanjiro, that was good….’

“Tanjiro...Aniki?” A voice interrupted the impromptu lesson.

Tanjiro paused, Giyu turned, and Sanemi got up surprise flickering on his face.

“Genya.” He murmured.

“Oh.” Giyu said not knowing what else to say.

Tanjiro brightened, completely unaware of the storm unspooling in Sanemi’s chest. “I made friends with him, and I told him you’re always here with Giyu-san, so he can come by anytime.” His smile was so open, so proud, that Giyu blinked, unsure whether he should laugh at the look of sheer annoyance that tightened Sanemi’s mouth or pity the boy for having such terrible timing.

“When did you both become friends?” Giyu asked.

“When we were in Butterfly estate in the past weeks. At first he was rude to all us and he did not like me, but it is very easy for me to make friends. So, now we are friends.” Tanjiro said with earnest warmth

“I will go see him.” Sanemi said turning to Giyu and completely ignoring Tanjiro and left before Giyu or Tanjiro could say anything.

“Let us give them some time Tanjiro.” Giyu said when he saw Tanjiro made a move to get up to go to Genya.

“Okay Giyu-san.” Tanjiro said lowering himself back to the ground though his eyes lingered on the path Sanemi had taken.

"When did you frist use it Tanjiro?" Though he had a rough idea Giyu wanted Tanjiro's concentration on him.

"What?" Tanjiro asked, his mind clearly on Genya.

"This breathing style when did you use it first?" Giyu asked patiently.

“I first used it in front of a Lower Moon. After that I only practiced the forms I could manage.” Tanjiro said brightly. Giyu looked indulegntly at his ward he was such a bright child and despite everything that happened to him his brightness hadnt dimmed. Giyu sat in silence as pride swelled inside him, warming places that had long been cold.

“That is something to be proud of, Tanjiro,” he said, his lips softening into a rare, genuine smile. Tanjiro lit up instantly, straightening under the praise like a sapling reaching for sunlight.

“You should practice the entire sequence all the way to the last form.” Giyu offered, his voice soft and assured.

“Yes, Giyu-san I…”

A sharp crash shattered the stillness, vibrating through the floorboards and cutting Tanjiro off. Giyu jolted upright at the sound, instinct sharpening his senses. He exchanged one glance with Tanjiro before they sprinted toward the main hall. With each step, a cold weight settled deeper into Giyu’s stomach.

Sanemi’s furious voice roared through the estate long before they reached the entrance. “HOW FUCKING DARE, YOU?”

Giyu’s feet moved on instinct, faster than thought, and the moment he reached the courtyard he saw the wall caved in, wood scattered like broken teeth, and Genya crumpled on the ground with terror shining in his wide eyes. Sanemi towered over him, arm raised, his entire body trembling with a rage so raw it made Giyu’s heart constrict painfully.

“Shinazugawa, what...” Giyu stepped in front of Genya instantly and caught Sanemi’s wrist with both hands before the blow could fall. The rage radiating off Sanemi was unlike anything Giyu had seen in the last peaceful weeks, something feral and grief-stricken, something wounded down to the bone.

“He… he’s eating demons,” Sanemi spat, every word coated in venom, in disbelief, in heartbreak. “He’s fucking eating demons, Tomioka.”

Giyu felt his breath stop for a beat. He turned to Genya, who was pale and shaking, eyes darting between them like a cornered animal. Despite the shock in Giyu’s heart ached for the boy seeing him look so desolate.

“He cannot use any breathing style…not a single fucking one…” Sanemi spat out, voice cracking despite his fury.

“So, he’s been killing them by eating them.”

Sanemi lurched forward as if the explanation only fuelled him further with a roar so raw it felt torn from his very bones, and Giyu’s grip nearly slipped from the sheer force behind the alpha’s movement.

“I AM GOING TO FUCKING KILL HIM.”

Giyu reacted on instinct, arms locking around Sanemi’s torso, absorbing the violent shudder that ran through him as he dragged him back. Behind them, Genya flinched as if bracing for a blow that never came.

“Tanjiro,” Giyu said, voice clipped and steady despite the strain in his arms, “take him to the Butterfly Estate…now.”

Tanjiro hesitated only for a heartbeat, throat tight with confusion, until Inosuke appeared beside him, muscles coiled and ready for a fight neither of them wanted. They obeyed Giyu’s command without another word, Inosuke gripping Genya’s arm and pulling him away while he stared wide-eyed at the scene behind him.

The moment they vanished into the trees, Sanemi’s fury surged again, wild and directionless. “Tomioka, let me go,” he snarled, thrashing in Giyu’s hold as if his very skin was trying to tear away from the pain beneath it.

“He cannot keep doing this. Let. Me. Go!”

“No,” Giyu said, pushing back with quiet strength until Sanemi hit the wall behind him with a hard thud. “Stop…please…Shinazugawa…stop.”

But Sanemi didn’t hear him. His mind had slipped somewhere dark, somewhere old, somewhere full of memories that still tasted like blood.

Everything in him shook.

And then it broke.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he breathed, his voice dropping into a hoarse whisper that trembled at the very edges.

Giyu froze, grip tightening instinctively. “Shinazu…”

“Don’t.” Sanemi’s voice cracked. “Just let me say this.”

His hands trembled violently now, no longer fuelled by rage but something far more devastating, something that hollowed out his chest and left him looking stripped to the bone. The fury drained from him so suddenly it left his body slumping forward, all that remained a grief so heavy it bent his spine.

“If another one of them turns… if I have to watch it happen again…if I have to do what I had…to back…then…I can’t…not again…” His throat worked around a painful swallow, and the rest escaped in a whisper barely held together. “I’ll break, Tomioka. I swear I will.”

He dragged a shaking hand through his hair, tugging hard as if trying to pull himself back together by force. His breath hitched, turned thin, unsteady.

“Genya is all I have left. I can’t kill him. I can’t even think it.” His voice snapped on the last word, a sound too soft to be called a sob but too wounded to be anything else.

“I can’t watch him become the thing I’ve spent my whole life fighting. He’s just a child, and he won’t listen, and I don’t know how to save him.”

“Shinazugawa,” Giyu whispered, voice breaking with the effort to stay steady, “please listen to me.”

But Sanemi couldn’t. His pupils were blown wide, unfocused, his body trembling like something cornered and feral.

“He’s all I have left,” he rasped, voice twisting between rage and despair. “He’s all I have fucking left, and he’s turning himself into something I can’t protect…something that I hate…”

His body buckled, Giyu caught him before he hit the ground, but Sanemi dragged him down anyway, collapsing with all the force of a man whose foundation had finally given out. Rage that had nowhere left to go, grief had nowhere left to sit, and so it spilled out of him as a sound that wasn’t a scream but felt like one. Giyu held him with both arms, hands sliding to the back of Sanemi’s neck, fingers threading into white hair to anchor him, gentle pressure grounding him.

“Shinazugawa…I’m here,” he murmured, trying to steady the frantic tremble beneath his palms.

And then everything inside Sanemi simply… gave up.

His fists loosened, slumping open against the dirt. His shoulders sagged, trembling uncontrollably. The fury in his eyes flickered, then dimmed, then shattered entirely, leaving nothing but raw devastation behind. He looked at Giyu as if seeing him for the first time, breath stuttering painfully, expression draining of all colour.

“...Tomioka.” Sanemi let out a broken whisper.

His eyes darted to Giyu’s arms around him, the bruising strength of the hold, the closeness of their bodies, and horror washed over him like ice water.

“I… I almost…” His voice caught on a sharp breath. “I could have hurt you.”

“Shinazugawa...”

“I swore...” The words broke apart. “I swore I would never raise my hand towards anyone, not ever, not even by accident, and I... Kami, Genya, I...” He pressed a shaking hand over his mouth as his chest constricted violently, shoulders folding inward. “What if I had…”

The sound that slipped from him wasn’t a sob but something smaller, thinner, as if his grief had collapsed into itself.

Giyu cupped his face with both hands, gentle and steady and heartbreakingly tender. “You didn’t hurt me,” he said softly, his voice warm as a hand over a wound.

Sanemi’s breath trembled as if the reassurance hurt more than the fear itself. Tears finally broke free, trailing down cheeks that had never learned how to hold softness.

Giyu leaned closer, bringing their foreheads together, letting the warmth of their breaths blend until the trembling slowed even a little. Sanemi’s breath hitched again, chest heaving, and then the first sob slipped free, quiet and desperate. He folded into Giyu fully, slumping against Giyu's chest with the strength of someone clinging to the last solid thing in his world. Giyu wrapped him tighter, rubbing slow circles across his back, heart aching with every broken sound Sanemi tried and failed to swallow.

“Shinazugawa,” he whispered again, calling him back piece by piece.

“S-Sanemi…please…listen to me.”

This time Sanemi stilled. He lifted his head sluggishly, eyes red-rimmed and wet, lips bitten raw. Giyu wiped his tears with gentle thumbs, only for fresh ones to fall into their place.

“We might have a cure,” he said quietly. “What we found that day...what we read...we can help Genya. He won’t share the same fate as your mother.”

Sanemi went utterly still.

Too still.

For a moment Giyu feared he had stopped breathing.

“Sanemi?” Giyu whispered, panic edging his voice. “Breathe…please.”

And then Sanemi exhaled a trembling breath that broke open into something soft and shaking as he flung his arms around Giyu again, holding him tight as if afraid he might disappear.

“Thank you,” he breathed, voice cracked but full of a relief so raw it trembled through his entire body.

Giyu held him tighter, one hand stroking his hair, the other wrapped firmly around his back.

“Always,” he whispered into Sanemi’s shoulder, meaning it with all of him.

Chapter Text

“What exactly happened yesterday?” Obanai asked while slicing green onions with the kind of concentration that usually meant he was trying very hard not to think about something else. The kitchen was warm, the scent of simmering broth filling the space as Giyu rinsed rice at the sink, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. Giyu looked ethereal in the cold afternoon light and Obanai couldn’t help but sneak glances at him. He liked this cooking with Giyu…like the domesticity of everyday that he now shared with Giyu.

Obanai had gone to see Rengoku when he learned that he had woken a week back after his lunch with the swordsmith. Obanai was quite offended at his friend for not informing him but that was only for a short period when Rengoku said Senjuro had sent an attendant to the Serpent Estate. He had given an awkward lie that he was with Sanemi. Rengoku whose hand was in a sling had laughed and let it go, for a man who had faced an upper moon he looked surprisingly well.

When Obanai had returned to the water estate the atmosphere was dour, he had eyed the broken wall and immediately rushed to see Giyu cradling a sleeping Sanemi on his futon. Giyu had given him a small smile and shook his head like he did not want to speak about whatever happened then, so Obanai had let it be. He laid down beside Sanemi and as awkward as it had been he surprisingly did not stay awake for long. Sanemi had left immediately after a very quiet breakfast without a word and as much as Obanai had wanted to ask where he was going, he hadn’t.

Giyu paused mid-motion, fingers submerged in cold water, shoulders tensing for a heartbeat before he turned slightly toward Obanai.

“Yesterday Genya and Shinazugawa had an argument.”

“About what? And did Sanemi break the wall?” Obanai asked, irritation slipping out before he could block it. They had just repaired the estate and for Sanemi to break it again annoyed Obanai to no end.

“Yes and the wall can be repaired again, Iguro,” Giyu said softly.

“I know, but that’s not the point. Just tell me what happened.”

When Giyu hesitated, Obanai stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Tomioka, you can tell me…come on.”

Giyu exhaled, nodded once, and told him everything...from the argument to the near explosion of grief and rage. By the time he finished, Obanai wasn’t sure if he wanted to storm out and scream or sit down and bury his face in his hands.

“How could he do that?” he breathed, his anger winning.

“He’s a child, Iguro,” Giyu replied. “Tanjiro told me Genya did it because he wanted to be closer to Shinazugawa.”

“That doesn’t excuse it. Not after what Sanemi went through to save him.”

“I know,” Giyu murmured. “But Genya… I don’t know him well, but I understand wanting to stay close to the only family you have left.”

Obanai looked at him then, really looked, and felt a strange heaviness settle in his chest because he realized, painfully, that if he had been in Genya’s place, if he had been desperate enough to hold on to someone he loved, he might have done the exact same reckless, terrifying thing. The thought alone made his stomach twist.

“Anyway… it’s going to be okay now, right?” Giyu whispered, stepping closer so his breath brushed Obanai’s ear, he shuddered and closed his eyes relishing in Giyu's warmth.

“Now that we found what we found in that forest.”

“Why are you whispering?” Obanai asked, opening his eyes, and looking deep into Giyu's eyes.

“Zenitsu’s hearing is very good, and I don’t want them knowing.”

“How good?” Obanai asked sceptically; to him Zenitsu was a hopeless mess of nerves and noise.

“So good that he doesn’t have a Kasugai but a sparrow, because it is too loud for him.”

“Oh, for someone with that sensitve ears he is surpringly loud.” Obanai deadpanned, and took delight in the smile that Giyu troubled to control and then he blinked as he realized the downside of it.

“So, he can hear through rooms?”

The realization that his plan to kiss Giyu privately in their room was now significantly more complicated made him scowl without meaning to. Giyu, noticing instantly, reached out and brushed cool fingers across his cheek.

The kids were back at the Water Estate training, and though Obanai wanted nothing more than to have Giyu entirely to himself, he had accepted...begrudgingly but sincerely...that this estate was their home… a home Giyu had opened to them with gentle, unspoken generosity.

They had rooms, clothes, their quiet place at the table, and even though Obanai still disliked the Kamado siblings for reasons that had changed shape over the months...mostly because they kept putting Giyu at risk...this was their household now, and he wasn’t heartless enough to evict them. Besides, knowing Giyu, if anyone got kicked out for being unreasonable, it would be him.

“What’s got you irritated now?”

“You say that like I’m irritated all the time,” Obanai muttered.

Giyu raised an eyebrow. “You and Shinazugawa are feathers of the same bird. He’s angry all the time and you’re annoyed all the time.”

“No, I’m not. I’m nice…ask anyone…especially Kanroji...”

He cut himself off the moment Giyu narrowed his eyes. His heart stuttered, panic flickering, his heart skipped a beat.

“So, you were nice to everyone but me?” Giyu asked, voice calm but the tilt of his head dangerously curious. His blue eyes, piercing as winter water, pinned Obanai in place.

He swallowed hard, stepping back instinctively until his spine met the wall. Giyu followed, slow and quiet and unbearably close.

“What exactly did I do to you or Shinazugawa to be hated all these years?” Giyu asked, tone level, his voice carefully blank and the thought of upsetting Giyu made Obanai’s heartbeat shudder in anxiety. Obanai’s pulse hammered frantically.

“Iguro,” Giyu said again...firm, patient, and terrifying in its gentleness.

“I… we thought you believed you were better than the rest of us,” Obanai said in a rush, unable to meet his eyes. Because what was he supposed to say? That he disliked Giyu’s silence? That he hated being jealous of his pretty face…that he had been an idiot from the start.

“But we were wrong,” he added quickly, voice low. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

He froze when Giyu lifted a hand, breath locking in his throat, until Giyu simply hooked one finger under his chin and gently tilted his face up. Obanai’s breath stilled as Giyu leaned in and pressed a soft kiss over his bandages.

It stole his ability to think, let alone kiss back.

“You’re an idiot,” Giyu murmured, eyes warming. “You both are. And I think I am too, because I didn’t even realize you disliked me until Kocho pointed it out. So, we’ll make do wonderfully, don’t you think?”

“You aren’t offended?” Obanai managed, stunned.

“Not sure, how I feel about it.” Came the flat answer which spiked Obanai’s anxiety.

“But mostly I would say I was indifferent to it.” Giyu continued with a teasing glint.

“You did that just to mess with me?”

“Yup.” Giyu grinned...an actual mischievous grin...and Obanai melted on the spot.

Great…he was doomed…completely doomed…and he wanted to be doomed forever.

He stepped closer, grabbed Giyu’s collar, and kissed him over the bandages...not caring who was listening, not caring if any of Giyu’s responsibilities were peeking and saw them kissing and hearing the entire thing. It didn’t matter. Not when Giyu flushed so prettily afterward, cheeks warming like dawn over snow.

He wanted to kiss him again, hold him, show him everything he felt in a dozen ways, but he only squeezed Giyu’s hand once, slow and deliberate, before letting go and returning to the karaage. There were so many things that he didn’t know about Giyu and he was going to learn everything about even if it was the last thing he had to do, even if he had to take Tanjiro’s help in that.

“Iguro, can we spar after we’re done cooking?” Giyu whispered. “And before you ask if I can, I’m telling you now I’m fine.”

“First of all, it’s Obanai,” he said, turning just enough to meet Giyu’s eyes, “and second, yes.”

Giyu looked at him with a warmth that filled every corner of the room. “Fine, then it’s Giyu for you.”

They finished cooking together, working in a quiet rhythm that felt strangely domestic, almost peaceful. Once the food was plated, Giyu called the boys inside.

The three stumbled in, still breathing hard from training but freshly washed. Without saying anything they laid the table, thanked Giyu enthusiastically, him not so much…annoying brats…

“Giyu-san, aren’t you eating?” Zenitsu asked.

“No. I’ll have my lunch later. You three go ahead.”

Tanjiro frowned. “Giyu-san…”

“Tanjiro,” Giyu said gently, “what did I tell you yesterday?”

“That you can protect yourself,” Tanjiro murmured, worry tightening his brows.

Obanai didn’t like how close they were…not one bit…but now wasn’t the time. He was sure he would have time to show in future to whom Giyu belonged.

“I’m going to train,” Giyu announced, and the boys nodded immediately, promising to clean up before Obanai ushered him out...ready to keep Giyu to himself for a little while, even if Zenitsu could hear them breathing from across the estate.

The steady hush of it filling the training room with a gentle quiet that made every movement feel sharper and more intimate than usual. The air inside was warm from the brazier in the corner, yet still crisp enough that each exhale came out in a faint puff as Giyu and Obanai circled each other across the polished wooden floor. Their footsteps made soft, muted sounds, the kind that disappeared almost instantly into the calm of the room, while the pale winter light filtered through the snowy glass and brushed over Giyu’s shoulders, giving him an almost ethereal glow as he shifted into position.

Obanai tried to keep his focus, he truly did, but Giyu moved like water gliding over stone, each transition smooth and controlled, the gentle sway of his dark hair drawing Obanai’s eyes no matter how sternly he reminded himself they were sparring, not admiring. Giyu’s bokken cut through the air with a soft swish that made Obanai’s breath stutter, and all at once the only thing he could think about was the quiet determination on Giyu’s face, the subtle tension of muscle beneath the layers of cloth, the way the winter light kept catching the edge of his cheekbones.

It was the smallest lapse, barely the width of a heartbeat, yet it was enough. Giyu stepped forward, pivoted with that effortless grace he carried like a second skin, and swept Obanai’s guard aside in one clean motion. Obanai barely registered the strike before his balance was taken out from under him, the floor rushing up with a muted thump softened by tatami mats. A startled huff escaped him, and then Giyu was already moving, dropping his weight in a controlled, fluid motion that ended with him straddling Obanai’s hips, the tip of his bokken resting over Obanai’s sternum with quiet finality.

Warmth seeped through Obanai’s uniform from Giyu’s body, his breath exhaled in a slow cloud that drifted between them, and for a moment Obanai forgot entirely about the sparring match because all he could see and feel was Giyu above him, cheeks faintly flushed from exertion, making him painfully beautiful. Giyu gave him a small, pleased smile, the kind that appeared now so often in their presence but each and every one of them felt like a private treasure.

“You lost your focus,” he murmured, voice low, amusement curling gently through it.

Obanai swallowed, refusing to look away even though he could feel the heat creeping up his throat. “You make it difficult to concentrate,” he muttered, the words soft but unfiltered, “when you move like that.”

Giyu blinked, colour rising to his cheeks, though he did not shift away; he only tilted his head with that quiet, assessing gentleness that always made Obanai feel simultaneously seen and unravelled. The pale light of the room shimmering over the strands of Giyu’s hair and turning the entire moment into something far too breathtaking for Obanai’s composure.

“You still lost.” Giyu said, triumphant but tender, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Obanai’s hand lifted almost without meaning to, settling at Giyu’s waist, the fabric warm beneath his palm. “Yes,” he admitted softly, letting the truth slip free, “clearly.”

Giyu’s smile deepened, warm and quiet and devastating. Without standing, he leaned down just enough that Obanai could feel the soft brush of his breath against his skin, the closeness sinking into him like heat after a long winter walk.

“Then you can try again after this,” Giyu whispered, voice rich with satisfaction, “because right now…I win.”

Obanai let his head fall back in exasperated surrender, which only seemed to please Giyu more.

“Get up and this time make an effort.” Giyu said getting up from him and he immediately missed the warmth…well that was going to be difficult now wasn’t it…

“Genya…” Sanemi called, guilt that had gnawing at his soul since yesterday tripled when he saw Genya flinch. For once Sanemi let go of his ego and strode in the room that Genya was staying at the Butterfly estate and pulled him in a hug. He almost laughed realizing that Genya was almost as tall as him.

Genya flinched again and stood stiffly, his eyes wide and watery looking at Sanemi in disbelief like he had lost his mind. But after yesterday there was one thing that Sanemi had come to conclusion…he couldn’t…no wouldn’t see Genya die and Giyu’s reminder about their find calmed his anxious heart.

Sanemi and Giyu had a long talk after he had calmed down and he realized just how lucky he was to finally have Giyu in his life. His calm and solid presence steadied him in ways that he couldn’t name…and he wished not for the first time that he had let go of his ego and pursued Giyu the moment he had started liking him.

“A-Aniki…” Genya’s hesitant mumble interrupted Sanemi’s chaotic thoughts and he let go of Genya.

“I am sorry.” Sanemi said before Genya could say anything and the way Genya looked at Sanemi in disbelief almost made him want to scowl, the silence was heavy and suffocating

“What changed?” Genya asked tentatively.

“A lot of things…things that I hope I can tell you in the future but for now can you trust me and give me another chance which I know I don’t deserve but please…”

“Aniki, I trust you…I never stopped trusting you and I know I deserved what happened yesterday…it is something that I cannot forgive myself for, but I didn’t know how else to get close to you.” Genya interrupted Sanemi his voice low and insecure. Sanemi closed his eyes and gulped mouthfuls of air and realized he had been a shitty brother. The promise he had made when their father abandoned him, he had completely forgotten it. But before he could apologize again, Genya continued.

“I am sorry Aniki for making you worry…I am sorry for saying…saying those cruel words at mo…when you had to…”

“I know you never meant them Genya, and I should have done better in taking care of you, so I am supposed to be the one is really sorry.” Sanemi whispered. They sat in silence that did not feel heavy and suffocating anymore and his heart ached at the sight of Genya’s tentative smile…he vowed to do everything right by him from now on.

“Genya pack your things my wind estate is your home, and you can live there….” Sanemi paused realizing that he wasn’t living in the wind estate. But taking Genya to the water estate not only would crowd the already crowded water estate but also put a burden on Giyu which he did not want to do. At the same time, he did not want to leave Genya alone in the wind estate.

“With you?” Genya asked brightening up and Sanemi did not have the heart to say no…he would have to ask Giyu…

“Y-Yes…but I am not living at the Wind Estate…”

“Oh, so you are always at the water estate?” Genya asked, Sanemi nodded and chose not to say anything about him courting yet to Genya.

“Why?” Genya asked and Sanemi didn’t know how to answer that question without asking for Giyu’s permission.

“I’ll be waiting for you outside.” Sanemi was all said as he left the room.

He ran into Shinobu at the entrance of the Butterfly estate who paused seeing him and gave him a strange smile that immediately raised his hackles.

“Shinobu.” He said trying to be cordial, he hadn’t forgotten the cruel words she had flung at Giyu.

“Shinazugawa-san.” She said still looking at him weirdly. Sanemi remained silent not wanting to engage with her, thankfully Genya came out right at that time and he bid Shinobu goodbye who watched them leave still with that strange expression.

“Did something happen?” Genya asked when they were away from the butterfly estate.

“No nothing happened.” Sanemi said, as he turned towards the village.

“I though we were going to the water estate?” Genya asked.

“Yeah, I have to get the wall repaired in Tomioka’s home…the one that I broke yesterday and some koi.” Sanemi said, they had just gotten the water estate repaired for it to be broken by him, he cursed his angry self yesterday.

“Right.” Was all Genya said.

“Why Koi?” Genya asked.

“Because all the koi are dead in Tomioka’s estate.” Sanemi answered.

“Was it because of yesterday?” Genya asked a little panicked looking a little guilty.

“No not because of yesterday.”

Genya stopped and looked at Sanemi like he was seeing him for the first time.

“You don’t look so angry anymore.” Genya observed. Sanemi found himself nodding to that for it was true. The rage that usually threatened to consume him was now tempered with Giyu’s calm presence. He suddenly felt an urge to chuckle but tamped down on it lest Genya thought that he had lost his mind.

“You like him don’t you…the water pillar?” Genya asked and Sanemi only replied with a smile. Genya was too perceptive for his own good.

By the time they got back to the water estate, Sanemi saw the kids cleaning after their lunch, they froze when they saw him and Genya.

“Genya.” Tanjiro said in his overly bright way…did the brat not get tired of being happy all the time.

“Tanjiro.” Genya said his tone friendly…right they were friends.

Sanemi realized as the teenagers surrounded each other their excited chatter filling the estate, not counting the sleeping pink demon. It was getting crowded and he frowned in displeasure he wanted to be alone with Giyu but now that looked like a pipe dream.

“Where is Tomioka?” He asked, a headache starting to form, at the amount of noise that they were making.

“Giyu-san is training with the Hebi Bashira in the training room.” The yellow-haired kid murmured, while the other two glared at him.

“What?” He snapped.

“Don’t hurt Giyu-san.” Tanjiro said the protectiveness evident in his voice.

“You think…I…” Sanemi scoffed, staring speechless at the audacity of Kamado brat.

“I don’t know you well, but after all the interactions we had I don’t trust you.” Tanjiro replied, while the yellow haired brat tried to pull him away. It wasn’t like he was wrong, but it didn’t stop Sanemi from giving his best glare and stomping his way to the training room. Sanemi slid the door open to see Obanai on his back with Giyu standing over him his bokken pointed at him and flushed, sweaty and with a smirk on his beautiful face. Sanemi found himself mesmerized, he stood silently in the doorway staring at the two people who he had decided to spend the rest of his life with.

“You lost Obanai?” He called out as he stepped in the room and slid the door close behind him.

“Shut up Shinazugawa.” Obanai snapped from the ground. Giyu looked at him, gave him a sweet smile and Sanemi froze his heart stuttering in his chest. Giyu’s smiles were so precious and now not so rare at least in their presence and Sanemi found himself thinking that he would do anything to keep Giyu like this...happy and smiling.

“Are you hungry?” Giyu asked as he moved away from Obanai and came toward him.

“Yes.” Sanemi replied.

“Great, we haven’t had lunch yet, come Obanai let us go.” Giyu called out to Obanai who was still on the ground.

“Sanemi?” Obanai called.

“Yeah.”

“Remember the reason we did not like him before for assuming that he was better than us." Obanai paused as he sat up flushed and sweaty and eyed Giyu like he was truly seeing him for the first time. Sanemi looked at Giyu in panic...this wasn't something he wanted Giyu to know...

"Though Giyu wasn't arrogant or proud but…I don’t know about you, but he is better than me.”

Giyu turned red and spluttered trying deny that he wasn’t powerful at all or better than them, but Sanemi was stuck on one part.

“Since when do you call each other by your given names?”

“Since this afternoon, why jealous?” Obanai asked and Sanemi moved closer to kick him.

“No.” he said.

“And that kick was what my greeting?” Obanai asked frowning, finally getting off the floor and taking a quick swipe at him and Sanemi ducked away chuckling.

“Yes.”

“Shinazugawa you’re a piece of ass.”

“Oi.”

“Stop it you two, I thought you were friends.” Giyu said coming and standing between the two.

“So, what don’t friends have fights between them.” Sanemi countered feeling very justified in his kick.

“That does not mean you can kick him Shinazugawa.” Giyu said rolling his eyes.

“Shinazugawa…Shinazugawa…why...you called me Sanemi yesterday.” Sanemi whined, offended and jealous and pulled a flustered Giyu in his arms and hiding his face in the crook of his neck. He took in the scent of petrichor and sweat and felt right at home.

“Sanemi get off me.” Giyu protested.

“I am sweaty.” He said.

“I like it.” Sanemi whispered. The sound of door sliding open came and suddenly Sanemi found himself lying on the ground, dazed he looked up at Giyu who looked guilty and mouthed sorry before he turned towards the door.

“Giyu-san the Kasugai of Hebi Bashira and Kaze Bashira are here with a message.” The yellow haired brat came in paused looking at Sanemi who was on the ground and then at red Giyu and a snorting Obanai.

“Is…is everything ok?”

“Yes, Zenitsu.” Giyu replied.

“Brat…annoying…interrupting…nosy…brats…” Sanemi mumbled under his breath, Sorai was absolutely capable of finding him, the brat just found a way to interrupt them.

“I am not a brat.” Zenitsu snapped frowning at Sanemi and then looked at Giyu pouting.

“Yes, you are not, ignore him.” Giyu said agreeing with him, patting his head and kid smiled like he had won.

Sanemi was sure he had whispered how had the brat heard him, puzzled Sanemi kept his mouth shut and glared at him who was now almost hugging Giyu.

Ignoring them and his jealousy Sanemi called Sorai to him, he stroked the birds head and waited for Zenitsu to leave. The kid lingered eyeing them with distrust but unlike Tanjiro yesterday he did not say anything and left.

Yuan was now perched in Obanai’s lap and birds relayed that there was a Hashira meeting in the next hour. The birds flew away once they confirmed that they would be there, it looked like their small vacation was at an end. Giyu sighed and sat down in front of him Obanai soon joined them on the floor, Giyu looked conflicted for a while.

“Sanemi, Obanai would you two mind if we kept this…that you two are courting me between us for now…I know it is difficult with the house crowded but I want…don’t…don’t want anyone to know that I…”

“I have no problem.” Obanai interrupted him.

“Right, I don’t too.” Sanemi said agreeing with him.

“Thank you, so we should leave after lunch, I’ll leave first after eating then.” Giyu said, relief glinting in his eyes. Sanemi pulled him before he could leave and kissed him, he had been starving for Giyu since morning. Giyu pushed him away with blush and left before Obanai could interrupt him.

Chapter Text

Obanai and Sanemi practically skidded to a halt outside the meeting room, breathless, snow melting on their shoulders. They slid the shoji door open with the smallest possible hope that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t that late. Ashamed, they apologized and took their places, they had been held hostage by Giyu’s protection squad…

Obanai had barely taken one step out the water estate when, he heard a shout behind him.

“HEBI BASHIRA!” Tanjiro’s voice came from behind him.

Obanai turned confused and alarmed at the protective resolution in their eyes.

“What, brat...” But before he finished, Inosuke dropped from the roof, tackling Sanemi into the snow.

“WIND MAN, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO LEAVE!” Inosuke bellowed, sitting on his chest like a wild boar king.

“GET OFF ME!” Sanemi roared, trying to shove him away.

Zenitsu appeared next, sliding across the snow on his knees, screaming,

“WE WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING!”

Obanai stopped walking. “…No.” Then he tried to turn around and leave.

Tanjiro grabbed his sleeve with both hands. “Hebi Bashira, please wait! We need to talk!” His eyes were shining with that devastating earnestness.

Obanai stiffened. “Kamado… let go.”

“No,” Tanjiro said, expression hardening. “Not until you answer.”

Sanemi finally shoved Inosuke off and staggered up. “Answer what, exactly?!”

Zenitsu jabbed a shaking finger at them. “YOUR INTENTIONS TOWARD OUR GIYU-SAN.”

Obanai choked...the fucking audacity...

“Your what?” Obanai’s eye twitched.

Tanjiro nodded solemnly. “Our Giyu-san.”

Inosuke pointed both katanas at them. “STATE YOUR PURPOSE, SNAKE MAN! WIND MAN! WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH HIM?!”

Sanemi’s eye twitched. “Purpose? What...why do you care?!”

Zenitsu wailed louder. “BECAUSE GIYU-SAN IS TOO BEAUTIFUL, INNOCENT AND TOO PRECIOUS TO BE LEFT UNSUPERVISED AROUND YOU TWO MENACES!”

Obanai closed his eyes. “I need patience. Higher beings, grant me patience.”

Tanjiro’s brows knit together. “Genya told us Wind Hashira-san likes Giyu-san.”

Sanemi froze and then looked at Genya who was trying to look inconspicuous and trying but failing miserably at controlling his laughter…traitor… Then he exploded.

“YOU STUPID LITTLE...WHAT DID YOU EVEN...”

But Zenitsu cut him off, voice rising in pitch.

“AND I SAW YOU, SNAKE HASHIRA! YOU! KISSING GIYU-SAN IN THE KITCHEN!”

Obanai inhaled so sharply he almost swallowed his tongue, he knew this would happen and wondered just how upset Giyu was going to be, if they killed them…very upset he assumed.

Inosuke stomped in a circle. “YOU BOTH ARE SUSPICIOUS! EXPLAIN OR FIGHT US!”

Tanjiro folded his arms, deadly serious.

“If you’re courting him, you need to say it clearly. So, we know your intentions are honourable.”

Sanemi sputtered helplessly. Obanai tried to speak...but nothing came out, and Giyu wanted to keep it a secret…he shook his head.

Zenitsu crossed his arms. “We won’t let anyone hurt him.”

Inosuke roared, “WE ARE HANHAN BAORI’S SQUAD!”

Tanjiro nodded proudly. “Yes, his protection squad.”

Sanemi pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe I’m being interrogated by tiny morons.”

“Inosuke, ignore him,” Tanjiro said. “He’s lashing out because he’s nervous.”

Sanemi nearly combusted. Finally, Obanai muttered, they were already late, and they had to get these brats off their back without hurting them. For how could he hurt them when they cared so much about Giyu.

“Fine. We are courting him, seriously. Not as a joke, not lightly.”

Sanemi looked away but grunted in agreement. “Yeah, serious.”

The kids stared at them.

“Both of you?” Tanjiro asked looking confused.

“Yes.” Obanai answered.

“Can you do that?” Tanjiro asked again.

“YES.” Sanemi yelled, his patience wearing thin and before he started killing them and Obanai accompanying him they had to leave.

The three huddled together called Genya over and seemed to discuss something and Genya also said something that made the three look at Sanemi with judgemental expressions, Obanai hoped that whatever Genya said it wasn’t bad, but considering the idiot standing next to him it did not look good.

The four teenagers done with their discussions came and stood in front of the two alphas.

Then Tanjiro nodded solemnly. “Okay, we give you, our approval!”

Zenitsu sniffled. “If Giyu-san is happy, we will allow it.”

Inosuke jabbed a thumb at his chest. “BUT IF YOU MAKE HIM CRY, WE WILL HUNT YOU.”

Sanemi roared. “WE’RE LATE FOR OUE MEETING NOW MOVE AWAY.”

“As if I wanted your approval to court Giyu.” Sanemi said before stomping away. Obanai let Kaburamaru hiss at them and then he too ran behind Sanemi.

***

Sanemi and Obanai bowed low their foreheads touching the floor.

“I apologize, Oyakata-sama,” Obanai said.

“Sometimes,” Oyakata-sama replied with a gentle calm that carried a thread of warmth, “we find ourselves placed in situations we cannot escape. I arrived only moments ago, so to me you are right on time.”

There was a soft teasing lilt in his tone, light and fond, and Obanai felt a slow twist in his stomach because Oyakata-sama had a way of knowing far more than he ever stated aloud, and Obanai had no doubt that he already understood exactly why they had been delayed.

As they moved toward their seats, they did not notice how the atmosphere in the room had turned cold enough to settle against the skin, nor did they notice that none of the Hashira were looking at one another, as if something heavy and sharp had fallen between them. They missed the sight of an injured Rengoku leaning against the wall, his normally brilliant presence dimmed by pallor and an anger that seemed to simmer through the faint tremble in his hands. They missed the open chest placed before Giyu. They missed the way Giyu sat bowed over it, trying desperately to hide his face behind hair too short to offer shelter, and they missed how pale he looked.

Oyakata-sama’s voice filled the silence with steady clarity.

“We have read the contents of the box that Giyu, Obanai and Sanemi found, and I am pleased to say that our findings look promising. The cure works. Our friend has confirmed it. She has already tested it on a demon, and the demon turned back into a human. The human remembered all the humans he ate and not being able to bear the guilt he committed seppuku.”

Obanai felt his heart jolt. “Did the diary not say that the demon turned human would die within an hour?”

“Yes, it did in that particular diary,” Oyakata-sama answered with patient composure, “however after going through all the diaries and scrolls, we have concluded that not all the research came from one person. We believe the work may have been carried on through the doctor’s lineage, the same doctor who created Muzan as he is today. Much like me and my ancestors, who have spent generations searching for ways to end Muzan, they appear to have pursued that same goal. The last diary entry was written two hundred years ago. We do not know why their work ended abruptly, and we do not know why they did not finish Muzan, nor why there are no new entries. What we do know is that they operated in absolute secrecy and never contacted us or anyone in the Demon Slayer Corps.”

His expression softened with something almost sorrowful. “Although we were already developing a cure for demons, our ally has been working alongside us for a long time and is actively pursuing a complete solution. This discovery answers many questions that were left unresolved, and in that sense, it is a precious gift.”

“That is very good news,” Sanemi said, his voice filled with relief, and only then did Obanai truly notice the heavy silence that wrapped around all the other Hashira. The joy he expected to see on their faces was nowhere to be found. Rengoku did not meet his eyes. Mitsuri stared at the floor, Tengen looked cold and detached the most surprising was Tokito who looked anxious for some reason the usual blank expression nowhere. Shinobu was pale her expression was unreadable. Instead of hope, the room held something strained and aching. It was unsettling in a way that scraped at Obanai’s nerves, and as he glanced at Giyu’s unmoving, pale form, worry curled tight in his chest.

“Yes,” Oyakata-sama continued, “as Sanemi has said, this is good news. Now we must consider our next steps.”

Himejima inclined his head. “What do you wish us to do, Oyakata-sama?” His deep voice resonated through the room.

“There are devices in some of the chests that we managed to open. When activated, these devices will capture a demon and hold it as if it is in a prison. We do not fully understand the mechanism yet. It must be tested, and to do that I have decided to send each of you to regions where I believe an Upper Moon may be hiding. You will go in pairs. The Kasugai will inform you of your destinations tomorrow morning, so be prepared.”

He paused and gestured to Nichika, who stepped forward carrying a tray of satchels. She moved with quiet purpose and placed one in front of each Hashira.

“Each satchel contains the medicine to turn a demon back into a human and the device that can restrain one. Even with these tools it will not be easy, but I have faith in your strength. If you are able to capture an Upper Moon, bring them back alive, there are notes in each satchel how to activate the device. We want to observe how quickly the cure works.”

“Yes, Oyakata-sama.”

“You are all dismissed. Giyu, remain here.”

Giyu stiffened so visibly that Obanai felt the movement like a cold ripple across the room. He wanted to stay beside him, to reach for him, to pull him upright if needed, but he had no choice, they all rose. When Tengen moved forward to support the injured Rengoku, Obanai stepped in beside him, and together they helped him toward the door. Through it all Giyu did not lift his head or move from his place even for an instant, and the silence that surrounded him was suffocating.

They stepped into the courtyard, and Obanai had barely drawn a breath when Rengoku erupted with such intensity that even the falling snow seemed to pause.

“Kocho, what you said today was cruel. You had no right to speak to Tomioka in that manner.”

“What…”

“Yes, Shinobu, I never thought I would hear such words from you,” Mitsuri added, interrupting Obanai, her usual warmth was replaced with a sharp anger that vibrated through every syllable. Obanai’s heart constricted, and a cold weight settled in his stomach. Something had happened, something significant, something that had struck Giyu so deeply that he could not hide it.

Obanai swallowed, dread rising. “What happened?”

The karaage had been absolutely delicious and Giyu had eaten his fill happily. Thanking Obanai for his delicious food and then he wanted to get lost in the way Obanai’s eyes brightened at the praise, but they had to leave for the meeting, so he left to get ready and also the kids were sitting like they were monitoring them. Giyu paid no mind they were up to their usual shenanigans, though Zenitsu’s furtive glances and Inosuke’s suspicious sniffs should have warned him.

He slapped the scent patches on his wrist and neck and felt his scent fade, the familiar veil of neutrality settling over him. Though he did have a good control over his scent, he still never took chances the patches gave him an extra sense of security. Gratitude warmed him again when he thought of how readily Obanai and Sanemi had agreed to keep the courting quiet, for the idea of anyone discovering that he was an omega filled him with a fear so ingrained he could hardly name it. Running a hand over his short hair he wore his dark blue Haori and came out.

“Tomioka?” Sanemi called, Giyu raised an eyebrow and just because they were alone, he said.

“I thought we were using our given names.”

“We are, but I didn’t want to assume.” Sanemi replied, rubbing his neck awkwardly and Giyu’s heart melted.

“You can call me Giyu.”

“Great.” Sanemi said happiness radiating from him.

“Giyu.” ,” he murmured, the name falling from his tongue like a silken thread. Heat spilled through Giyu’s chest and down his spine, his throat tightening as he swallowed, suddenly aware of how much he liked hearing his name on their lips.

“I brought Genya with me, and I know that it is alr…”

“He can stay here I have no problem.” Giyu interrupted him.

“Thank you.”

“Sanemi, you do not have to thank me.” Giyu leaned in without fully thinking and felt the faint tug of want pulling him forward, but hearing the sound of footsteps paused.

“Where is Obanai?”

“He is cleaning up.”

“All right, I should leave then.” Giyu took Sanemi’s rough hand, squeezed it lightly and offered a small smile before slipping away.

At the gate of the Ubuyashiki estate he saw Tengen helping Rengoku, who could barely walk. Giyu quickened his pace and greeted them. Rengoku had always tried to include him, always tried to brighten the edges of his quiet world.

“Rengoku-san, I am glad to see you awake.”

Both men stopped, startled, and Giyu understood their surprise because he too was startled at having spoken first.

“It is good to see you as well, Tomioka,” Rengoku said with a warm, exhausted smile, while Tengen watched Giyu with open curiosity. Giyu inclined his head and received the same in return.

“A new haori and a haircut, you look good Tomioka,” Rengoku said.

“I liked his long hair better,” Tengen added. Giyu’s cheeks warmed with colour.

“Umm…” Was all he could manage. Rengoku gave him a smile that rivalled the sun but said nothing more. When he stumbled a little Giyu moved to support him from the other side, together they helped Rengoku inside and helped him sit against the wall. Himejima and Mitsuri were already there. Once the greeting were done Mitsuri turned to him.

“Tomioka-san, I did not get a chance to say this the last time, but the new hairstyle suits you a lot. Also, you missed dinner again with all of us and next time we are not letting you skip it. Right, Tengen-san, Rengoku-san?” Mitsuri said in her sweet voice.

“Yes, although I will have to be excused until I can walk on my own,” Rengoku said with a wince.

“Why did you come today, Rengoku?” Himejima asked.

“The Master told me I should be present. Tengen was telling me about your discovery, Tomioka.”

“Oh.”

The door slid open again and Tokito entered, stopping when he saw everyone gathered around Rengoku. He stared blankly, and Giyu wondered if he too looked that expressionless most of the time.

“Why is there a chest here?” Tokito said pointing out to a very familiar chest in Giyu’s place. Curious Giyu moved to his place and all the other Hashira moved right with him. And for the first time Giyu did not feel anxious of being surrounded by so many people. It stunned him and made him wonder was this because of Sanemi and Obanai.

The chest was the same one that made Giyu take everything that day from the room, the kanji Kibutsuji Muzan almost glowed in the sunlight.

“Open it.” Mitsuri urged excitedly. Giyu looked at everyone questioningly and they seemed to understand his question surprisingly well and gave their assent.

“Wait bring it here so I can see it too.” Rengoku interrupted them. Giyu paused and then got up it was fair, and they moved collectively to where Rengoku was sitting. Giyu looked for an opening but found nothing, he stroked the words and found nothing. Frowning he looked up at all the curious faces.

“There is no way to open it, it looks sea…” Giyu pause when he felt a prick. Bright red blood bloomed from his finger and fell right on the kanji. For a moment nothing happened and then there was a strange whirring sound. The blood flowed through the words and then it glowed bright red and with a snap with chest opened.

The silence that followed was one of amazed shock, they looked at Giyu with awe in their eyes.

“I see why the chest was placed at your seat Tomioka.” Himejima said breaking the shocked silence.

Giyu gulped, looked down to see that the chest was like the box for in it were vials and vials of a blue liquid that defied the space they took. There was a note stuck inside the lid of the chest, with trembling hands Giyu took the note and then as if asking for permission or confirmation he looked up.

They all looked at each other and then at Himejima.

“There is a note Himejima-san, should we read it?” Tengen asked, Himejima pondered on it for a while and then said.

“Tomioka should read it, he was the one who found the box and the one who was able to open it too so he should be the one to read.”

The others nodded eagerly, like they couldn’t wait to read what was written, Giyu felt the same, excited and controlling the smile that threatened to slip out. He opened the note only to pause when the door opened again and Shinobu stepped in.

“What is happening?” She asked.

“Shinobu, there was a chest in Tomioka-san’s place, and he was able to open it went like whirr and snap it opened it was like magic, it was so cool Shinobu you should have seen…”

“So, you’re an omega, Tomioka-san.” Shinobu’s voice cut cleanly through Mitsuri’s excited explanation.

Giyu froze, he looked at Shinobu in panic and disbelief. His heart thudded in his chest, anxiety peaking as everyone’s attention directed at him.

“W-What?” Giyu managed helplessly.

“The chest.” She said pointing to it. “It can only be opened by an omega so since you opened it, you are an omega right Tomioka-san…why have you been lying all these years. Did you like playing with all of us? And how were you able to become a Hashira despite being an omega, I mean your type isn’t known for being strong. I want…”

The sliding of the door successfully shut her up. Giyu felt the room closing around him, he breathe felt short and sharp. Pain lanced through his heart as he wondered just why did Shinobu say all this…did she hate him so much…did she do this because he had ignored her last time…he flinched when he felt a hand over his. He looked up to see Mitsuri holding his hand, looking at him so very kindly, her green eyes filled with tears. Her kindness brought tears to his eyes and with great difficulty he blinked them away.

“Is something wrong my children?” Oyakata-sama’s kind voice permeated the room.

“Oyakata-sama, did you know Tomioka-san is an omega, because if you didn’t then I think he should be punis…”

“Kocho.” Oyakata-sama interrupted her, the use of her last name, spoken with calm disappointment, made her pale instantly.

“I am disappointed in you. What others hide is not your business, they do not owe you any answers or secrets. Now all of you get back to your places.” Oyakata-sama ordered.

Giyu got up holding the note and the chest all the while Mitsuri holding his hand, her touch seemed to center him. He wanted to thank her, but his mouth refused to work so all he could do was bow his head in gratitude as he took his place. They all bowed and greeted their master and the silence that surrounded them was suffocating and oppressing.

“Where are Sanemi and Obanai?” Oyakata-sama asked.

“It looks like they are late Oyakata-sama.” Himejima replied.

“Hmm, sometimes it is best to be late.” Oyakata-sama replied cryptically.

Giyu did not understand the deeper meaning, but he understood one thing clearly. If Sanemi and Obanai had been there he would not have felt so alone, so exposed. He missed them with a sharp ache. He longed for the quiet of the Water Estate and the warmth of their arms, where the world felt softer and no one demanded anything from him. It had not even been an hour, yet he already longed to return to the sanctuary of their presence, where he did not have to answer to anyone.

Chapter Text

“Nichika, tell Kocho to stay back.” Oyakata-sama said when the hall had emptied.

“Yes, chichiue.” Nichika said and left the hall her soft feet spattering against the wooden floors. Oyakata-sama let out a tired sigh and Giyu felt so guilty for burdening him with his problems when he already carried so much weight on his shoulders.

“I am sorry Oyakata-sama.”

“Why are you apologizing Giyu?” He asked, his voice holding infinite kindness in it.

“For…f-for…” Giyu trailed off his voice trembling. For the anxiety had paved for fear…fear so profoundly settled in his bones that knowing that he wasn’t the thirteen-year-old weak child that couldn’t run away from those men…the way his skin still crawled and the urge to peel if off if he even thought of that month was still there…even after all these years…it hadn’t didn’t faded away. And with fear, guilt ran rampant he was so guilty of always troubling his already burdened master and for that he was so sorry.

“For?”

“For i-increasing your burden, for m-making you solve my problems.” Giyu whispered.

“Giyu never apologize for a mistake that isn’t yours, Giyu my child you never wronged that person. What Kocho did today is not forgivable, it puts your safety at risk, and I cannot silently be an audience to it. Knowing the atrocities that are committed against omegas everyday she should have known better than to reveal it even if she had deduced it. There will be a punishment for her for I do not take lightly the safety of you or of any my corps.” Oyakata-sama explained with a hint of steel in it.

Giyu felt tears falling from his eyes as he sniffled.

“Oyakata-sama…I…I…don’t want her to suffer because of me…” Giyu said head still bowed.

“Then what about your suffering?” He asked and for that Giyu had no answer.

“She is an adult, Giyu. Actions have consequences, especially when they harm those she calls her friends. You must be kinder to yourself. Ask this: had you been in her place, would you have done the same thing? If the answer is no, then treat yourself with the same kindness you offer others. Not with the harshness they give you.”

“Wipe away your tears Giyu, I want to see you happy, you can trust the others to keep your secret, but I will also ask them to never talk about it to anyone. I was glad to see that you were finally mingling with the other Hashiras today.”

“I did not find their attention so suffocating today maybe it is because…because of S-Sanemi and O-Obanai…”

“Is it?” Oyakata-sama said with a smile.

“Y-Yes…Oyakata-sama…” Giyu hesitated.

“You can tell me anything Giyu.”

“T-They…” He swallowed hard. “T-they… Sanemi and Obanai are… courting m-me…”

“That is a wonderful news, and I am so glad for that. I hope you can find all the happiness in the world you deserve.”

Oyakata-sama’s smile brightened, warm and proud. “That is wonderful news. You deserve happiness, Giyu.”

“Amane…” he called, his voice raising faintly.

A moment later Amane-san hurried in, worry in her eyes...until she saw Giyu. Her expression softened.

“Amane, Sanemi and Obanai are courting Giyu.” Oyakata-sama relayed the news, happiness radiating from his voice. Giyu blushed and ducked his head feeling really shy.

“Amane, Sanemi and Obanai are courting Giyu.”

Giyu’s face flamed as he ducked his head, feeling small and shy under her bright smile.

“That is such wonderful news, Giyu,” she said warmly, and stepped forward to give him a gentle hug. He froze at first, then melted into it...the soft warmth reminding him painfully of a mother he had lost long ago.

When she pulled back, she stood beside her husband.

“You do not think it is too soon…?” Giyu asked, voice trembling with the guilt he could no longer hide.

“It is never too soon,” she said gently. “Can you give a time limit to grief?” She asked, sighed and then continued when Giyu didn’t say anything…it wasn’t like he had answer for this…

“Grief does not lessen if you stand alone. Nor does it grow if you stand with those who love you. Pray for the child who was taken, pray that Kami brings them back to you. And open your heart, Giyu. You have been sad for far too long; you deserve joy too like the rest of us. Like you would see us being happy we too would like to see you happy.”

Giyu’ throat clogged, and he looked up at Amane-san in gratitude slowly the feeling of fear, anxiety panic and shame ebbed away he found him feeling not so fragile like he had moment ago.

“T-Thank you, Oyakata-sama, Amane-san I wouldn’t be alive if not for you.” Giyu whispered prostrating before them. Kami truly had given him two sets of parents and if he wasn’t lucky then who was.

“Giyu my child you do not have to ever thank us.” Amane-san said, her voice filled with love and kindness that he was slowly starting to believe he deserved.

“Giyu, if you prefer for the sake of your safety then I can assign you with either Sanemi or Obanai?” Oyakata-sama asked.

Giyu pondered on it, the feeling of fear still at the edge of his senses but he had to overcome, he couldn’t let his fear rule his life forever, so he shook his head.

“No, Oyakata-sama I will be fine with whoever you assign me with. I need to start overcoming my shortcomings…and there are a lot of them…” Giyu said.

“That is good to hear, I am glad.” Oyakata-sama said.

“Be safe on your travels then Giyu.” Amane-san said.

Giyu turned to leave and then spotted the open chest which had been forgotten in all the confusion, the note still clutched in his hands.

“Oyakata-sama, the chest opened with my blood. There are vials of a blue liquid and a note that is how Kocho knew that I am an omega…she said that only an omega could open this chest…” Giyu explained, pushing the chest towards them. Amane-san took a look at the chest and then at the note that Giyu had stretched towards them.

“Giyu, it took a long time for us to open one chest…these secrets were handed to you, so I think we made a mistake of not including you in everything.” Oyakata-sama said.

“But Oyakata-sama I am not medically or an intelligent person to understand even half the things that are written in the diary.” Giyu protested.

“Yes, I know that, but I feel Mizuhanome Kami wanted you to open all the chest and then entrust to the people you trust.”

Giyu’s eyes widened as he eyed the now open chest.

“I..I…”

“Read the note Giyu.”

With trembling fingers and heart thudding at the thought of holding such big responsibility Giyu read the note aloud:

To whomever reads the note,

It means that the Yakugai (薬害) is no more that our last descendants have perished trying to kill Muzan. With Mizuhanome-Kami’s help we have stayed hidden but is for naught if we couldn’t achieve our goal and right the wrong our forefather committed.

Reader, this chest holds the precious essence of blue-spider lily obtained over the course of a millennia. The flower which Muzan desperately searches to complete his cure and be able to stand in sun. But this essence is different for it will bring his end.

The essence in this chest is nothing but poison to Muzan for this will not cure him this will kill him. A demon that is centuries old will not succumb immediately but if administered one vial of this essence, he will stop regenerating then we assume that he will die in a short period of time and with him all the demons under his control will perish and our work will be completed.

Use this wisely reader.

When he finished, he looked at the chest…at the millennia of desperation sealed into the carefully made vials, at the work, the grief, the fury, the failures of people long dead, at their hope that someone else would finish what they could not.

“Oyakata-sama…is the cure that you mentioned different from this?”

“Yes, that is different the writer had compassion for the turned demons and wanted them to see them as humans again whereas whoever wrote this felt desperate enough to entrust the centuries of hard work and secrets to stranger just to see Muzan dead.”

“What should I do now?” Giyu asked.

“We will see how these missions go…see if the cure really works as stated in the diary.”

“Yes, master.” Giyu said getting up and placing the box in front of Oyakata-sama and Amane-san.

“Are you entrusting it to us Giyu?” Amane-san teased gently.

“Who else will I entrust it to then?” Giyu asked completely missing the teasing in her voice.

“Oh, Giyu…” Amane-san sighed.

“What?”

“My innocent child…”

“Leave him be Amane.” Oyakata-sama said with a smile.

“Go Giyu and ask Nichika to send Kocho in.”

Amane-san looked surprised at the address and looked at her husband curiously.

“Okay.” Giyu said bowing once more before slipping out.

“What happened?” Obanai asked, his voice low and cold, each syllable edged with a clarity that cut deeper than any blade. Eyeing the insect hashira with a cold clarity that she had hurt his Giyu in his absence. There was silence cold, and the raging Hashiras fell silent but not for long for it seemed that Shinobu was hell bent to prove that whatever she did was not wrong…

“They already know,” she said, chin lifting stubbornly. “With the amount of time they’ve been spending at the Water Estate, they must Tomioka-san’s true nature…that he is and omega…”

“YOU DID WHAT?” Sanemi burst out, interrupting Shinobu. Obanai looked around anxious to see any Kakushi, but they were alone like in all Hashira meetings but one could never be too careful…Obanai closed his eyes, and breathed through his nose…the fucking audacity of her to reveal Giyu’s nature in front of so many alphas…he eyed them trying to find a hint of want or disgust or want for Giyu but all he saw was anger. Anger on behalf of Giyu…

Shinobu looked faintly irritated rather than ashamed.

“What are you getting angry for, Shinazugawa-san? It’s not as if you like him…” she narrowed her eyes, voice curving with a cold, poisonous sweetness. “Or is that why you and Iguro-san are spending your time at the Water Estate?”

The courtyard froze.

Obanai and Sanemi stared at her, shock so cold it seeped into their bones making them tremble at the insinuation. Did she truly believe they were at Giyu’s home only because he was an omega? Did she think so little of them… or so little of Giyu’s worth? Or did she hate Giyu enough that she simply didn’t care what danger her words brought to him?

“I thought you were his friend…” Obanai whispered, the words trembling with disbelief. “The only one, for that matter. And for you to say something like that… to imply we are that shallow, and Tomioka so…” His voice broke, unable to finish. He was too stunned, too horrified, that a secret Giyu had fought his whole life to protect was tossed away by someone he trusted.

“I am his friend,” Shinobu said sharply. “And that is why it hurts that he did not deem me trustworthy enough to tell me…”

“You proved him correct,” Tengen said, his deep voice unusually quiet. “You were never trustworthy enough to keep it.”

“No…” came Tokito’s soft voice, cutting just as deep. “That wasn’t the only reason. You also wanted to know how he became stronger even though he was an omega.”

She flinched and her face drawn like she had been slapped by Tengen and Tokito. But she still did not realize…still looked at everyone cocked her head and then asked as if it wasn’t obvious to what her fault was.

“I don’t understand why are you all so angry with me?”

Mitsuri gasped, holding her hands to her mouth.

“Do you seriously not know what your fault is?” she asked, shock widening her eyes.

Rengoku who was leaning on Tengen for support scoffed. His expression was a mixture of disbelief and deep, simmering disappointment. For once, his usual warmth was nowhere to be found. His voice, when it came, was quiet enough to make Shinobu flinch.

“Kocho… what you did today was cruel.” The absence of usual address glaring.

Shinobu blinked, confused. “Cruel? I simply stated...”

“You exposed his nature,” Rengoku cut in face pale his physical wounds making his voice unsteady. “You stripped him of his safety in front of everyone, you insinuated that he was weak. You questioned why an omega could become a Hashira.” His fingers curled tightly at his sides, knuckles trembling. “You attacked not just his body or skill, but his entire being.”

Shinobu opened her mouth to speak, but Sanemi took a step forward. His eyes were wild, red-rimmed, his breath uneven

“You think it was your right to say it,” Sanemi said, voice trembling with too many emotions packed tightly into it, his eyes wild, red-rimmed, his breath uneven.

“You think because you’re his friend that you can say anything. There are some boundaries that are never meant to be crossed…you broke one today…something I am not sure if Tomioka could ever forgive you for...”

Before she could snap back at Sanemi, Obanai felt the last of his self-control snap like a pulled thread.

“Tomioka has trusted you for years, we all thought that you two were friends…” Obanai said, voice trembling with controlled fury.

“…And for you to turn around and bare his secrets like it meant nothing…like he isn’t allowed to have them…like he doesn’t deserve the basic respect any human should astounds me. For all the kindness you bestow on everyone is that all pretend…is the great healer Kocho Shinobu above all the rules?”

“Or do you think that just because you lost your sister, you’re the only one suffering?” Obanai said his voice cracking like a whip.

“Look around you everyone here has suffered some more than you did.”

Shinobu’s composure cracked and she snapped back, her voice sharper than steel.

“Please, you are pretending to care now when you two were the ones who bullied him most in the past. As if any of you were any better, as if any of you didn’t dislike him simply because Tomioka-san was quiet. Except maybe Kanroji-san and Rengoku-san.”

A heavy wave of guilt rippled across the Hashiras, guilt they could not deny.

“That doesn’t make what you did today right, Shinobu…” Rengoku murmured, paler now, his pain for Giyu and his own physical wounds making his voice unsteady.

“I think Rengoku-san shou…”

“You want to know why we were at the Water Estate so much?” Sanemi asked, interrupting Mitsuri, his voice blank. Obanai wanted to stop him…stop him from revealing anymore secrets that weren’t theirs to reveal, he moved to touch his elbow only to be shrugged away coldly.

“It is because we found him at the death’s door more than two months back. It is because of that he hasn’t been attending any Hashira meetings or going on any missions…that is what you asked when he brought an injured Genya to you right? Well, here is the truth that even being that injured he did not trust you to take care of him. That sub-consciously Tomioka preferred dying then being treated by you. Is that answer satisfactory enough, or would you want me to continue like you did that day…taking Kanae’s name…she would be so disappointed in you if she knew just how cruel you can be especially to the person you call friend…”

“…And for how w-we treated him in the past I know we were assholes, and we will pay our dues.” Sanemi finished, coldly.

Shinobu’s eyes filled slowly with tears, and Obanai felt a dark, ugly satisfaction twist low in his chest because at least she felt something, at least she understood a fraction of the damage she had caused.

“I did not mean to hurt him.” Shinobu finally whispered, her voice trembling.

“But you did and not only Tomioka-san but also Shinazugawa-san and Iguro-san.” Mitsuri said her voice softening and her kindness in that instant felt even more terrible than Sanemi’s harsh words. As tears started to fall from Shinobu’ eyes Tengen spoke up his voice heavy with grief.

“There is a reason why people who are born as omegas hide that…because for some they are nothing but pleasure holes…you might have no intention of harming Tomioka but not everyone who knows that will have the same ideals. So, if Tomioka was hiding it then it was for his safety and not meant as a slight against you, Kocho.” Tengen said his voice unusually blank.

“Shinobu, I hope you haven’t said this in front of anyone else. We will make sure not to say a word of this to anyone and I hope that you realize your mistake.” Rengoku whispered, his face now dangerously pale. They all stopped when Nichika came outside she paused when she saw all the Hashiras gathered but unlike the previous times where the atmosphere would be friendly now it was stifling.

“Kocho-san chichiue wants to see you.”

Shinobu bowed her head and walked past them with her shoulders slumped, and Obanai allowed himself the hope that she would actually make things right with Giyu.

Nichika turned around to leave but then paused and then looked at Rengoku.

“Rengoku-san I think you should rest a little bit and then leave for the flame estate; you look like you’re in a lot of pain.”

“T-Thank you.” Rengoku murmured wincing. Tengen and Mitsuri moved together to help him inside.

Himejima shook his head sadly, tears flowing from his eyes.

“Sad…so sad…this shouldn’t have happened…” Himejima murmured and left, leaving behind Sanemi and Obanai who wait for Giyu their hearts breaking for their omega.

“Will Tomioka-san be, okay?” Tokito asked quietly. Obanai flinched he had forgotten about him.

“I-I am not sure…” Obanai whispered.

“If I don’t remember all this tomorrow, then can you please tell him I am sorry.” Tokito said.

“It isn’t your fault.” Sanemi mumbled his rage now cooled he looked guilty, regretting his decision to scold Shinobu.

“Hmm…” He said blankly and left without another word.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and fragile. Obanai dragged a hand over his face, exhausted. Just when things were beginning to settle, when it looked like they might finally catch a break, something had to shatter the peace again, and he could only hope...pray...that Giyu didn’t retreat into himself, didn’t shut them out after all the progress they had made. Giyu came out, eyes red-rimmed but not looking as upset as Obanai had expected.

Giyu passed Shinobu on his way out and he ignored her; he could not look at her...he needed space to think and make sense of everything that had happened. He would talk to her when his head was clear, when his heart was steady… but not now. His fists curled, nails biting his palms. Only then he noticed the crumpled note still in his hand…he had forgotten to give it to Amane-san. He turned, intending to go back, when Nichika appeared with Tengen, Mitsuri, and Rengoku. Rengoku’s face was pale, breath shallow, pain carved into his posture.

Giyu’s chest tightened. He should have been resting, not dragged here in this state.

Without fully understanding why, Giyu followed after them. He stood awkwardly near the doorway as Nichika led them into a spare room and helped settle Rengoku carefully onto the bed. When she left, silence wrapped around them. Giyu didn’t know what to say…should he apologize that he had hid his nature…or apologize for inconveniencing Rengoku when he was in so much pain.

“Rengoku-san…” 

“Tomioka, forgive us what happened today should not have happened." Tengen cut in gently, his eyes softened with sincerity.

"I cannot apologize for Kocho but you can trust me...trust us to keep your secret...secret that I won't even share with my wives. I know I have been an ass for my behaviour but from now on I hope that we can be friends?” Tengen asked with so much hope that all Giyu could do was nod, his heart full with the amount of gratitude that he felt at their kindness.

“Tomioka-san, I am sorry too I don’t know why Shinobu said all that, but as Tengen-san, said you can trust us to keep your secret.” Mitsuri said, nodding her head eagerly.

“Yes, Tomioka…you can trust me too…” Rengoku winced as he adjusted himself on the bed.

Blushing with embarrassment he stared at his fellow Hashiras and realized he had never given any of them chance and that was his fault despite relishing his silence he could have at least gone to some of their gatherings.

“You should have gone home Rengoku-san.” Giyu finally said and realized what a stupid thing it was to say...

“A-And I-I am so thankful for all your support. I am sorry too for being my quiet self…it is just that I find it difficult to make friends or know what to talk about…” Giyu mumbled rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“You don’t have to apologize for that Tomioka-san.” Mitsuri replied and giving him one her bright smiles which Giyu couldn’t help but reciprocate albeit it was small one…a very small one.

“You’re so pretty…” Mitsuri said before clamping a hand over her mouth. Giyu turned red and ducked his head…the attention on him now was turning too much and he longed to run away but before he could he decided to give the note to them to give them to Oyakata-sama.

“I have to leave but can you…can you give this note to Oyakata-sama I forgot to give it to him, earlier.” Giyu said and stretched his hand holding the paper.

“Right, this…”

“What does it say?”

“Can we read it?”

They all asked at one time.

“Yes, I read it in front of Oyakata-sama and yes you can read it, in fact I feel all of us should read it…it truly is beyond belief and maybe answer to all our hard work, if our mission turn successful.” Giyu said, Tengen took the note from him glancing at it eagerly.

“I am leaving, and safe travels Kanroji, Tengen-san. Rengoku-san I hope you are better by the time I am back from my mission.”

“Come visit me when you are back Tomioka.” Rengoku whispered.

“Yes, and you will join us at dinner too, right?” Mitsuri asked again.

Giyu nodded helplessly, unable to say no under their bright hopeful gazes, he turned to leave only to stop when Rengoku called again.

“Tomioka.”

“The Upper Moon Three I faced, I think you should all know before you three leave and can you relay the message to the rest?” Rengoku asked, his fist clenching at his side.

"I will." Tengen nodded.

“His power is immense, but it is his fighting style you must understand! He is a master of unarmed combat...his destructive power is concentrated in his fists and his legs. He possesses a technique; a form of extrasensory perception he calls his Compass Needle. It allows him to read your fighting spirit, your intent, your very life force! He uses it to predict and counter attacks with terrifying precision! I only survived him because of the sun rising , if he had come a little earlier then I wouldn’t be here today.” Rengoku explained.

The thought of losing a Hashira as powerful as Rengoku made him pause. It would have been devastating to lose someone like him. Giyu shook his head…no point in pondering on the what if's. So, he processed the information that they had been givem...the name, the rank, the demon’s unique ability. This was precious information that could be used if they were assigned to place right where this demon was.

“I understand,” Giyu said, his voice still quiet but layered with new resolve. “Thank you, Rengoku-san.”

“That is my job, be careful and don’t die anyone.” Rengoku said with a sigh.

Giyu gulped nodded at them, clutched the satchel and left to find Sanemi and Obanai for he was sure they would be waiting for him. Like he had predicted the two alphas were waiting for him. For a heartbeat, Giyu simply looked at them, his heart warmed seeing them and though it had been a short time he had missed them. They straightened seeing him, anxiousness rolling off them. Giyu looked around saw no one and he closed the distance in three steps.

Obanai barely had a say anything before Giyu pressed into both of them, arms wrapping tight around their waists, forehead tucked against Sanemi’s collarbone. Their arms wrapping around him like a warm blanket. He lifted his head but before he could say anything Sanemi laid a finger on his lips shook his head. Sanemi took his hand, Obanai stepped to Giyu’s other side, fingers curling around Giyu’s wrist and then Sanemi guided them out the Ubuyashiki estate to his wind estate.

Chapter Text

The walk to the Wind Estate should have been comforting. The snow fell softly, each flake dissolving on Giyu’s skin like something too gentle for the day he had endured. Sanemi and Obanai stayed close on either side of him, their silence not heavy but protective, their presence steady… yet even their warmth could not thaw the tight knot in his chest.

Inside the estate, the air was warmer. Braziers glowed steadily in the corners, filling the large rooms with a heat that clung to the floorboards. The hallways were wide, the windows open enough to let the scent of winter drift in. It was not like the bare stillness of the Water Estate. This place had lived-in warmth, rugs, paintings and weapons on display. Shoes that had been kicked off haphazardly by Sanemi near the door.

Giyu noticed none of it, his fingers were still curled around Sanemi’s, and Obanai’s hand still held his wrist, grounding but painfully gentle.

“Sit,” Sanemi said, gesturing to the cushions, he sat on one and they settled across from him.

“I missed you two,” he blurted, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Sanemi and Obanai both froze, then looked at each other in a silent exchange…an entire conversation in a glance. Giyu didn’t know what it meant, but his heart sank anyway.
He frowned annoyed at them for having gestures that did not include him. He let go of them and huffed annoyed at himself too for being irrational. Of course, they were going to be closer than him.

“Giyu, we were apart only for the afternoon.” Obanai said carefully. Giyu stared at the idiots…did they not understand the reason he missed them. The silence stretched…tight…suffocating…he swallowed hard…lately he realized that he was quite a source for discontent for them and he wondered if he had done the right thing in accepting their courtship…the problem wasn’t them…the problem was him and his house full of problems, insecurities and boundaries that he refused to be broken. His frown deepened and he looked down at his hands…he should have gone back to his estate. So, he got up only for them to scramble up in a hurry.

“Where…where are you going Giyu?” Sanemi asked hesitantly and Giyu did not understand the reason for his hesitation…at that moment he felt too incompetent as a human being for not being able to understand basic human expressions. There were two extreme emotions warring within himself…one that wanted to lash out for excluding him in their thoughts…and one that scoffed at his own insecurities.

“My home.” He replied shortly and made his way to the door without giving them a glance, they could share all the looks they wanted in his absence. Maybe being alone would help him sort his thoughts out and he had a lot to process…and he hadn’t even begun to let himself feel the hurt Shinobu had caused…the day was already proving too much for him and for them to say that it had only been an afternoon…hurt and annoyed him to no end. So, he wanted to leave before he had a fight with them.

He moved away when he felt Obanai and Sanemi reaching out for him, they froze but Giyu still did not look at them.

“Giyu…what…” Sanemi asked. Obanai did not say anything, nor did he allow Giyu to shy away from his touch either, he pulled him in a hug. Giyu stood stiffly for a few minutes but found himself melting surrounded by Obanai’s warmth. He felt Sanemi’s arms around him and wondered for the first time if the alphas too liked each other too…

Sanemi cupped his face stroking his cheekbone, Giyu pulled his face away not meeting their eyes. He felt Sanemi’s hand moving to hold his to stop him from leaving.

“Tell us, what’s wrong…hmm…what’s got you so annoyed?”

“Do you not know, don’t tell me you all didn’t speak about me when I was talking with Oyakata-sama…like you all usually do. So, what you two are going to pretend to now know what happened today?” Giyu snapped and then realized that he was lashing out at the two people who were not responsible for it at all…fuck…he needed to sort his thoughts before he hurt them…that is if he hadn’t done that already.

“Let me go…I need to be alone please.” Giyu pleaded his voice breaking.

“You being alone is not going to help…”

“No,” Giyu cut Obanai off.

“To you two maybe company helps but for me it doesn’t…I need my time alone and that is one thing you two need to understand that when I need to be alone you need to let me be alone.” Giyu snapped his voice devoid of any emotions.

Their faces crumpled and shame curled in his gut…there he gone and done it again…

Sanemi’s hand shook where it held him. “You do not understand how worried we are. If you walk out now, how do we know you will be alright? You can barely stand without trembling.”

Giyu swallowed, his throat hurt from holding everything back.

“What do you think I am going to do?’ Giyu asked helplessly.

“You think…you still think…that I will harm myself…?”

“NO…no we don’t…we don’t want you to be alone…not after what happened today…Giyu please let us…” Obanai pleaded, and Giyu shook his head.

“Please…let me go…” Giyu pleaded.

“…I just need space…please…can you please let me go for now…please.” Giyu pleaded again. The air in the room was thick enough to choke on, and his head pounded with the urge to vomit up everything he had eaten that afternoon.

“Giyu, wait…please…just…stay. Don’t go out there like this, let us fix this.” Sanemi’s voice, usually a bark of a shout, was a frayed, desperate thing.

“I said I need to be alone.” His own voice sounded foreign, flat and dead. “I am begging you...”

Sanemi’s grip tightened around Giyu’s arm as if the thought of letting him slip away physically hurt him. Giyu lowered his gaze, watching the patterns on the wooden floor blur, he couldn’t bear to look at the hurt on their faces…hurt because of him. His chest felt too tight and the ache behind his ribs throbbed with every breath.

When they finally loosened their grip, Giyu stepped away quickly, not trusting his voice. The cold air rushing against his skin made the difference painful. His arms felt oddly empty, almost chilled.

Each step toward the door was a battle against a gravitational pull emanating from the space behind him…a pull of warmth, of shared futons and of a belonging he had only just begun to believe was his. His hand, when it finally touched the cool wood of the frame, was trembling.

“Giyu…!” Sanemi’s voice cracked, a sound of pure strain. It was a plea, torn from somewhere deep and vulnerable that made him pause.

“There’s something you should know. We… we had to tell them…the kids…about courting you.”

The stone in Giyu’s chest exploded into a million shards of ice. He turned, just enough to see them, his face a pale, bloodless mask. The hurt was instant and surgical, a precise cut severing a fragile, trusting thread inside him. It wasn’t anger that rose first; it was a devastating sense of exposure…it looked like everyone was hell bent on exposing all his secrets today…

“You told Tanjiro, Zenitsu and Inosuke?” Each name was a measured blow, a nail driven into the coffin of his privacy. “You actually told them.”

“…And Genya…” Sanemi mumbled.

“You told them.” He said, voice quiet. “After I asked you not to.”

Obanai looked utterly defeated, his usual rigid posture collapsed.

“They cornered us, they knew, they wouldn’t let it go. We didn’t… want to tell them but they wouldn’t let us go….Zenitsu saw me kissing you in the kitchen today…”

Giyu closed his eyes…one fucking thing he had asked for…one thing and they couldn’t even do that…

“You are grown men,” Giyu said, his voice trembling.

“You could not lie to four teenagers? I asked for one thing. One simple fucking thing, and you could not do it.”

Sanemi flinched. “Giyu, listen, it was not like that.”

Giyu shook his head, he was done…this was the reason he didn’t allow anyone to come closer…because if he did…they broke his trust…Shinobu…them…

“No, I don’t care anymore... announce it to world…tell everyone I am an omega and that you two are courting me…did you two not realize that was the reason I asked you to hide…?”

They hung their heads in shame, but this time Giyu couldn’t make himself to feel guilty about it, he turned away from them.

“I know now never to ask you two of anything.”

He left before they could say another word.

He flew from the Wind Estate with the snow stinging his face, and the moment he landed beneath the nearest tree, his stomach twisted violently. He leaned forward and vomited until nothing was left. His breath fogged in the freezing air, and he stared at the mess numbly, his mind shutting down in a slow, terrifying way.

Then he wiped his mouth, steadied his shaking legs, and began the walk back to the Water Estate. He didn’t care that the cold bit at his flushed skin like a punishment. He didn’t care that the wind raked through his hair.

The snow swallowed every sound.
The quiet pressed around him like a numb, suffocating blanket.
The world blurred into streaks of white and shadow.

When he slid open the estate door, warm air rushed out, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and the sound of soft voices.

Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke and Genya were gathered in the main hall. Their conversation died instantly when they saw him. Four pairs of eyes widened.

Giyu did not look at them directly. He could see them only in the corner of his vision, frozen in place like startled deer. Even Inosuke did not make a sound. Tanjiro’s face softened, ready to step forward, but he must have seen Giyu’s expression because he stopped himself. He made his way to washroom and got rid of the disgusting taste of vomit, checked to see if there was food enough for their dinner and then made his way to his room.

Zenitsu had drawn his knees up, whispering something anxiously to himself. Genya looked in confusion and fear. Giyu kept his gaze on the floor and walked past them without a word. They knew better than to disturb him.

Once inside his room, he shut the door quietly and the sound echoed through his ribs, took off his satchel and placed it safely by the shelf then looked at the empty room. The emptiness of the room hit him all at once. His breath caught, his knees gave out, he sank to the floor, pressing a hand over his mouth as the tears finally spilled over. Everything from the day crashed down on him hard.

Shinobu’s cruel words…the feeling of being stripped bare in front of all those alphas.

The way Sanemi and Obanai held him too tightly…the way they told the kids…the way they decided to ignore his request…the way he felt too much and then too little…the fear of being too much trouble…the clarity that he had driven them away…the fear of needing them too much.

Then came the heaving sobs he clamped his hand over his mouth desperate to have the dignity to cry alone. Tears flew from a place of profound loneliness he thought he’d escaped. It was the strain of the day, the weight of all the stares when they learned he was an omega, the crushing fear that they saw him as weak...a liar. And woven through it all, sharp and bitter, was the betrayal… betrayal from his only friend and he didn’t even understand why.

Hurt from Sanemi and Obanai…their names bringing a fresh batch of tears. They had promised him to not tell and even though it was the kids and despite him loving them he needed to time to understand Sanemi and Obanai…he needed time to tell them that he was an omega. The trust, he had so carefully given, felt like a lie in his hands, it was a simple thing…a small thing that he had asked…could they not have lied...or was he not allowed to ask…maybe that was it…for what did he know how relationships work. How alphas were supposed to be…maybe it was all his fault…he shouldn’t have ever expected anything. He curled on the cold floor and cried until his throat was raw and his eyes burned, until exhaustion hollowed him out and dragged him into a fitful, troubled sleep.

When he woke again, it was deep into the night, he felt heavy and sluggish. The room glowed softly from the braziers. He was on his futon, his blankets had been pulled over him, he frowned, groggy, confused. It was then he felt that he wasn’t alone and sleep clouding his mind he scrambled in a rush to get away from whoever it was. His back hitting the wall with a thud, pain making his mind clear and he took a deep breath when he saw it was only Sanemi and Obanai.

…fuck… He thought as he remembered the entire day, Giyu’s breath hitched, a dry, painful sound.

They too had hurried after him, worry etched on their tired faces, their hands hovering in the air before his face, as if afraid to touch him, he eyed their hands but did not lean into them.

“What…what are you doing here?” His voice rough and scratchy.

His throat hurt, he cleared it and swallowed down the disgusting taste on his tongue. A glass of water was held near him with trembling bandaged hands. Giyu stared at the glass not having the courage to look at the hurt in their eyes. He had lashed out at them…well they did deserve a little bit of it…a teeny tiny bit of it…

He took the glasses before they could start pleading and he didn’t think he could bear it if they did that. He took a sip the cool water sliding down his throat, bringing him much needed relief, though it did little to help the pain behind his eyes, his head throbbed.

“Giyu…I am sorry…I know I shouldn’t have done that but in our hurry I…I panicked and didn’t want to upset you by hurting them…” Sanemi started, guilt heavy on his voice.

“That and I figured since the yellow-haired bra…Zenitsu had already seen us and since this is their home and that they are bound to see us…I thought…I thought…”

“Even when I explicitly asked you not to?” Giyu asked his voice still hoarse.

“I didn’t think…”

“You don’t think that I did not think of all those scenarios…that I asked you two to keep it a secret without taking all of that into consideration. If you couldn’t have lied, then you could have deflected and then tell me, and we could have decided together or am I not worthy or deserving of an opinion…is that it?” Giyu asked, knowing well that if Zenitsu was awake that he could hear everything, but he couldn’t make himself stop…but he needed to stop for his sake and for theirs too.

“No…” They both hurried to deny.

Obanai’s gaze was fixed on Giyu, wide and unblinking. “We were wrong,” he stated, the simplicity of it devastating. “You gave us your trust, a piece of yourself you guard so fiercely, and we treated it carelessly. We are so sorry. The apology is worthless, but it is all we have.”

Giyu slumped, he knew he was being dramatic now…

“Last time…this is the last time…” Giyu mumbled. He did not shy away from their hand when they touched him, allowing himself to find relief in their warmth. He sighed as he leaned into their touch.

“I know you two don’t know me and my need to keep my secrets as secrets and I know I don’t know you two at all…” Giyu raised his hand when Obanai opened his mouth to interrupt him.

“I know about your painful pasts and so do you about mine but that doesn’t mean I know you well or you know me.”

“Yes, but we can learn as we spend more time with each other…right?” Sanemi asked with a hopeful expression. Now Giyu couldn’t say that he was jealous of their easy friendship could he…they had known and were friends for years obviously they would have a better understanding of each other. Giyu lips turned downward but he nodded nonetheless.

“Giyu…” Obanai said hesitantly looking at him intently as he moved closer to him, his forehead almost touching his.

“Can you not…please…shut us out in the future…” He pleaded and as much as his heart hurt, he needed them to understand one thing.

“Sanemi, Obanai I am quiet person and that is not because I have a traumatic past…I mean it has contributed to it a little bit. But I like being quiet, the silence and there are going to be times when I want to be alone. And it isn’t going to be because of you two it is because I need to be quiet and want silence around me, can you both do that…can you leave me alone when I need to be?” Giyu asked, Obanai pulled a little away, his hands holding his face.

“That…it is going…”

“It is going to be difficult…” Sanemi said but when Giyu frowned he continued. “But we’ll try.”

“Okay, good enough for now, I…” Giyu’s words were muffled as he was smothered by two trembling alphas.

“Tomioka Giyu, you are making me lose my mind.” Sanemi whispered face buried in his shoulder.

“I am sorry.” Giyu said only for Sanemi to shake his head. Then he realized with a belated thought that he too had done exactly what he had forbidden them to do…fucking hell…he was a hypocritical piece of shit…they were going to be so angry with him.

“Sanemi…Obanai I…I told Oyakata-sama and Amane-san about us…”

Sanemi stiffened pulled away and gave a look that Giyu feel guilty as he narrowed his eyes at him.

“So, you can say, and we can’t and for you to give us shit…all this entire fucking time…”

“I am sorry but the only reason I told them is because they know I am an omega…” He whispered the last word and hoped to Kami that Zenitsu was asleep.

“No, no…you don’t get that…not after giving us so much shit…” Sanemi said shaking his head.

“I am sorry.” Giyu said only for Sanemi to shake his head again.

“Then tell me what I should do?” Giyu asked feeling a little desperate now maybe he shouldn’t have been so angry at them…what should he do…first he had lashed out at them doing the exact same thing that they had done.

Sanemi wagged a finger at him. “No, no…don’t try to wriggle out of this after staying away from us for the entire evening.”

“Giyu, he is joking…we don’t care who you tell…” Obanai finally interrupted Giyu’s increasingly frantic thoughts. Wide eyed he looked at Obanai who hadn’t looked up at him, his face still buried in his shoulder.

 “He is? You are?” Giyu asked.

Sanemi gave him a smirk and said. “Yes.”

“Oh…”

Giyu pushed Obanai off only for him to glare at him, he ignored his glare.

“How did you know that he was joking?” Giyu asked pointing to Sanemi. They paused and then they looked at each other.

“And this…why do you two do this…”

“It is because we have known each other for so long…also because we know each other very well so we understand each other well that we need to glance at the other to know what the other is thinking.” Obanai explained. Giyu wondered if there would be a time when he too could understand them only with one look.

“You don’t have to worry Giyu, you will understand Sanemi quite well in a very short time for there isn’t a lot up here…he only functions on rage and his intent to kill demons…” Obanai continued, tapping on Sanemi’s forehead.

“OI” Sanemi squawked indignantly.

“And you…will it be easier for me to understand you?” Giyu asked. Obanai’s eyes softened and with that Giyu’s worry lessened.

“Yes, you will.”

“Are you sure?” Giyu asked again.

“Yes, now don’t push me away.” Obanai ordered, Giyu rolled his eyes but allowed Obanai settle in his previous position, hands around his waist, face buried in the crook his neck.

“I am not an idiot.” Sanemi murmured.

“You are a little though…” Giyu objected.

“We have gone on so many missions Giyu how can you say that?” Sanemi complained.

“And as far as I remember you did not help me a lot, you stood by silently while I fought…”

“I know, why would I interfere when you had it under control. It did not make sense for me to also waste my energy when you were completely capable of killing the demons.” Giyu interrupted him.

Obanai snorted, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter. Sanemi gaped at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Don’t get angry but you are very powerful, and your skills are really good. And I think that is why you rush in headlong without any plan or a thought of how to kill a demon, but it is astounding for someone like me. I’m…I’ve never been physically strong…but I have built my body up but despite that I cannot rush in like you do.”

“So, you mean to tell me that you observe how a demon fights and then plan and then attack?” Sanemi asked surprised.

“No, how will I know how a demon fights before he fights me, it is in between the fights assessing the demons’ skills. Adapting my forms and proceeding accordingly, exploiting all the demon’s weakness.” Giyu explained.

Sanemi blinked at him, Obanai too had raised his head and was looking at Giyu strangely.

“What, you didn’t think that I overpowered demons with my sheer power did you?” Giyu asked.

“Kinda…” Sanemi admitted, scratching his chin.

“Oh.” Giyu murmured, pleased that they thought he was as powerful as Sanemi and Obanai. And with that reminded Giyu of Rengoku’s warning about the upper moon three so he proceeded to inform them about what Rengoku had informed them and then he proceeded to tell them about the note and the chest and then the reason why Shinobu deduced it all.

And by the end of it he had been divested oh his haori, the top buttons of his unform loosened pulled back onto the futon, in the middle while they nuzzled him. Hands holding him tightly like they couldn’t bear to let him go. The thought of separating on the missions saddened him, they only had a few hours left and that too Giyu had wasted time fighting with them…he really was an idiot wasn’t he…

“Don’t get yourself injured Sanemi, Obanai.” Giyu whispered in the dark.

“We won’t.” Sanemi replied with his usual confidence.

“Yeah…” Obanai echoed, he tried to push them off to see their faces but now he couldn’t.

“Giyu why can’t I smell you?” Obanai asked. Giyu flushed in embarrassment, and he was glad it was dark.

“I-I am w-wearing my scent patches.”

Obanai raised himself to look in his eyes, to see his face uncovered, he hadn’t realized when he had removed his bandages and Giyu forgot what they were talking about. He raised his hand and stroked his face, committing every line to memory.

“Show me?” Obanai asked.

“Hmm?”

“Your scent patches?” Obanai explained.

Giyu pulled his collar aside and pushed his sleeve down to peel it off, but Sanemi’s scarred hand gently pushed his away and removed the patch himself. He lifted Giyu’s wrist, inhaled deeply, and shivered.

The moment both patches came off, Giyu’s scent flooded the room, curling into theirs. Obanai leaned in, mouth closing over the sensitive spot on his neck. Sanemi’s lips brushed Giyu’s own...soft touches, tiny licks...and Giyu melted beneath them completely.

Obanai drew closer until there wasn’t any space for air in between them and nibbled, Giyu was sure there was going to be a mark but right now he couldn’t care about. He closed his eyes and gasped in pleasure as Sanemi’s lips brush against his wrist with tiny licks.

Sanemi moved away from his wrist and came closer. His face soft in the soft light if the brazier making Giyu’s heart skip a beat. Sanemi’s lips brushed against his...quick, testing touches. The hesitation made Giyu’s breath stutter. His heartbeat painfully against his ribs, the ache of the entire day still raw enough that their gentleness felt unreal.

Sanemi’s fingers slid up his jaw, rough and warm, tilting his face. Giyu felt the tremor in them.

“Giyu…” he breathed, forehead pressing to his.

The warmth of him, the scent of him, wrapped around Giyu like a blanket he didn’t know he was cold enough to need.

Obanai’s lips followed the line of Giyu’s throat–slow, reverent, almost desperate. His breath was warm against damp skin, his movements careful as if he feared Giyu might pull away at any moment. His hands came around Giyu’s waist, sliding beneath the loosened fabric of his uniform, fingers tracing trembling patterns along his ribs.

Giyu’s breath hitched, and inhaled slowly, shaky. His scent...soft, clean, cool like winter water stirred with something warmer...rose into the air, caught between their bodies. It made both alphas still, their breaths turning heavy, their hearts thudding in unison against him.

It was almost afternoon when one Tokito Muichiro came to the Water Estate asking Giyu if he was ready to leave for their mission to a fishing village to the east. Kanzaburo was late as usual, Giyu shook his head indulgently when his crow crashed into the veranda railing and bounced off it with a squawk of indignation, Giyu picked him upholding the trembling old crow close to his chest.

With the soft flutter of wings, Tokito’s Kasugai Ginko turned and shot into the sky, croaking impatiently. Muichiro followed without hesitation, light on his feet.

Giyu walked after him, turned around with one final look at his two alphas who were looking at him so forlornly, he continued to look at them till the trees swallowed the view of the Water Estate completely.

Chapter Text

The mission had stretched into its third week, and they still had to catch a sight of the demon. They had followed the demon’s trail from the fishing village to the coast, then along the jagged line where land broke into stone and teeth. Its stench of malice and evil was heavy in the air, and they had followed the trail of broken bots, torn fishing nets and bodies of half-eaten fishermen found days later, their bodies twisted unnaturally, faces frozen in terror, blood salted by the sea.

The tracks had led them underground to the caves carved by water and time, their mouths yawning close to the shoreline. The smell of brine and rot lingered thick inside. That had been a week ago. Since then, nothing had emerged…no demon…no movement. Just silence and the relentless breathing of the sea through stone.

Giyu had not let Ginko go, the Kasugai crow paced the cavern restlessly, feathers ruffling every time waves crashed somewhere above. Kanzaburo could not lead them out. The tunnels branched too wildly, folded on themselves, warped by the tides. If Ginko flew to inform Oyakata-sama now, there was no guarantee she would find her way back.

Giyu would not risk it, So, they waited as time went on and Giyu’s worry increased as each day passed.

Tonight, they ate beside an underground lake where water glimmered faintly blue, reflecting the phosphorescent moss clinging to the cavern walls. Giyu had caught the fish himself, quiet and efficient, his movements practiced even in the cramped darkness. The fire was small but steady, they could not keep the fire going, they only started it for food and now they did it only once a day.

The smell of roasting fish cut through the damp air, Giyu knew this wasn’t sustainable but at least this time he had packed all the warm clothes that Amane-san had gifted and even with all those it did little to ward the cold off…one more day…Giyu thought and they would have to abandon this mission… a thought that did not sit well with Giyu.

Tokito sat cross-legged across from him, calm as ever, as though weeks underground were nothing out of the ordinary.

It struck Giyu then, not for the first time, how extraordinary the boy was.

So young, so precise and a prodigy no less, but not sharp-edged or arrogant. There was a gentleness to Tokito Muichiro that often went unnoticed. He listened more than he spoke, he noticed even the small things. He waited. And he had the patience like an old man.

Giyu handed him a piece of fish. Tokito accepted it with a quiet thank you.

They had spoken little during the meal or through their entire way here, but it felt natural, not strained.

“Tomioka-san?” Tokito said at last.

Giyu looked up.

They sat in one of the wider chambers, firelight throwing long shadows. For a moment, it almost felt like a Wisteria house rather than a cave that might become their grave.

“About the other day,” Tokito continued. “Before the Hashira meeting. I want to apologize. It should not have happened. And I am sorry for that.”

Giyu blinked. He had not expected I, he had assumed Tokito had forgotten, the way he forgot names, faces, days. Instead, the boy met his gaze steadily.

Giyu felt something warm loosen in his chest. A quiet pull of fondness, pride, even. He wondered distantly when that had started happening, when he had begun categorizing people this young as his to worry about.

“Tokito,” he said, voice low. “I appreciate that, truly. But it was not your fault.”

Tokito frowned faintly. “But it hurt you?”

“Yes,” Giyu replied honestly. “It did but it wasn’t because of you…right?”

Tokito considered that, then nodded. He seemed satisfied with the answer, at least for now. They ate in companionable silence after that.

“Tomioka-san?” Tokito asked again after a little while.

“Yes Tokito.” Giyu said.

“You don’t mind me asking questions, do you?” He asked again, hesitance creeping into his voice.

“No, Tokito.”

“Okay then can I ask you the reason you avoided all the Hashira gatherings. Was it because you're an omega?”

“It was a little because of that…” Giyu paused pondering on the questions.

“But I think the main reason was I felt too incompetent and thought I never deserved to sit in between all of you but lately I have…” Giyu trailed of not sure how to say it.

“You have…?” Tokito prompted., leaning forward. Giyu smiled at his curiosity and discovered that he liked seeing Tokito like this...well to be fair he had never seen him like anything.

“That even if I have lost my family there are people who care about me…that family doesn’t necessarily mean we have to be related by blood.” Giyu explained. Tokito frowned looked at Giyu with a confused expression.

“Tomioka-san…I don’t understand…”

“Amane-san and Oyakata-sama saved me when I was thirteen…they gave me life again and with that gave me a family who stretched their hands to help me when I was at my weakest…”

“What I am trying to say is…” Giyu started to say when he saw the confused look on Tokito intensify.

“We are not alone, you have me and the other Hashiras to help you if you falter, I have the other Hashiras to help me. It is okay to rely on others; we don’t have to be strong on our own…”

“Oh.” Was all Tokito said before tears started streaming down his face. Startled Giyu dropped the piece of fish he was holding and hovered over Tokito anxiously not sure if he should touch him.

“W-What’s wrong Tokito…?”

“I am not sure…I don’t understand why this fell.” Tokito murmured. Giyu patted his head like he would to Nezuko and sat back in his place and decided to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t want to have a crying thirteen-year-old on his hand especially when they were stuck in these damned caves.

That night in the quiet, his mind drifted, missing home, missing the kids, missing Sanemi, missing Obanai. He fingered the hinoki figurine now tied to his belt tied with the Kumihimo braid. Sanemi had taken it made a hole, threaded it with Obanai’s yellow and green braid and given it back to Giyu. A piece of them attached to him always.

His mind drifted to Sanemi’s hands, rough and warm, gripping his waist like Giyu might vanish if he let go. To Obanai’s mouth at his throat, careful despite the hunger, reverent in a way that still stole Giyu’s breath. Kisses that they shared in the dark, desperate and grounding, like promises whispered without words.

And then, the kids…his kids and he never realized when he had started to see them as his. But he had and when they had cornered him the morning after his fight with Sanemi and Obanai all guilty and worried, Giyu realized that he never wanted to worry about anything.

Tanjiro has stood too close, brows pulled tight with worry. Zenitsu had hovered, trying not to cry. Inosuke pretending not to care while clearly caring too much.

‘Are you angry with us?’ they had asked.

“No,” Giyu had said immediately, because that part was easy. “Never.”

They had stared at him, unsure.

“You are my kids,” he had told them quietly. “I love you and whatever happened yesterday was never because of you.”

They had cried anyway, hugged him so tightly that he his breathe stuttering but he had smiled despite himself.

“Though the next time you want to know something come to me, okay?”

The three had nodded, still sniffling.

“And also, I will be leaving for a mission today and I am leaving you in charge of the water estate and make sure it is still standing when I come back and no Kakushi…yes?”

“Yes, Giyu-san.” They had replied and then proceeded to hug him again, he had returned the hug then, patted their head with a fond smile.

The memories left his chest aching.

‘We’ll kill the demon and get out of here,’ he whispered, more to himself than to Tokito.

Though Tokito did not answer, Giyu was sure he had heard it. And for a moment, listening to the water breathe through stone, Giyu allowed himself to believe it too.

Sanemi stared at Giyu’s back till he disappeared from his view, a sense of longing already settling in his chest.

“We should leave too; I don’t want anyone finding us here and asking questions.” Sanemi said.

“Yes…see you after the mission then…take care Sanemi.” Obanai said and left without another word. Sanemi lingered, his gaze drifted to the rebuilt Water Estate, clean lines and quiet halls hiding far too much history. Somehow, somewhere along the way, it had turned into home. Giyu had done that…even the kids had, irritating as they were.

They had been of great help last night in assuaging their fears whent they returned to the water estate. They had found all four kids hovering before the closed door to Giyu’s room. The look of relief in their eyes seeing them, had surprised Sanemi.

“G-Giyu-san w-was crying…” Zenitsu whispered as if afraid to say loud lest he disturbed the tentative peace.

“Is Giyu-san sad because of us…of what we asked you in the afternoon?” Tanjiro asked.

The boar-head stayed silent, but Sanemi could see the tremble in his hands as he clutched Tanjiro’s shirt.

Genya had stood off to the side, lost, anxious, clearly wanting answers and afraid of them all the same.

Sanemi had been startled by it. The depth of it, they didn’t just respect Giyu, they trusted him without hesitation, loved him without conditions. loved him the way he deserved. Worried and tried to protect him like a child would of their parent.

And standing there, something sharp and painful had cut through Sanemi with perfect clarity. He wanted to be part of that even if he found them nosey and annoying. They’d reassured the kids as best they could. And strangely enough, it was Zenitsu who’d spoken with certainty.

“Giyu-san doesn’t hold grudges. If you explain… he’ll forgive you.”

The guilt hadn’t lessened but at least there was hope that he hadn’t fucked up too badly.

***

The Wind Estate greeted him with familiar emptiness. Open corridors, cold air sweeping through like it owned the place. He barely had time to shed his haori when Sorai arrived, cawing

“You’ve been assigned a joint mission to the Entertainment District. Sound Hashira Uzui Tengen will be your partner.”

“Tell him I’ll be ready,” he said curtly.

He hadn’t even finished tying his gear when he felt the pressure hit the gate.

“Took you long enough,” a booming voice drawled.

Tengen Uzui stood there in full, obnoxious splendour, arms crossed, jewels gleaming despite the dull sky. His grin faltered when he took in Sanemi’s expression.

“…You look like hell.”

“Yeah,” Sanemi muttered. “Let’s go.”

They departed without ceremony. No banter. No complaints. Even Tengen seemed to sense that whatever sharp replies he usually provoked were buried too deep tonight.

The road stretched long and dusty beneath their feet. Sanemi kept his gaze forward, every step dragging memories of Giyu’s warmth by his side or the way he smiled quietly when he thought no one was looking or his quiet sobs in the dead of night when he thought they both were sleeping.

Sanemi’s chest had split open right then. He’d stared at the wall, fists clenched, every instinct screaming to pull Giyu close. Obanai hadn’t moved either, both of them frozen by the sick certainty that this was about his child that he lost. And he wanted to change that, wanted Giyu to not think that he was a burden to them, wanted him to see happy finally rid of his hurt but he didn’t think that it would be possible…how did one overcome a death of their child?

He wanted to give him a life filled with love and happiness and he hoped that he would be the alpha Giyu deserved…Sanemi thought now, teeth grinding as they neared the district gates.

The Entertainment District welcomed them with noise and light that felt obscene after the road. Music…laughter…silk brushing against skin, hiding the ugliness it held. The fake smiles that the Oirans lavished holding pain beneath it.

They spent the first day finding bodies.

The demon was meticulous. Nothing was sloppy and nothing was obvious.

The second day was worse.

More corpses emerged with the same pattern and no sign of the dratted demon itself.

Sanemi’s patience frayed. He sliced through curtains and floorboards alike, snarling at shadows. It felt like they were being toyed with.

On the third night, Tengen stopped on a rooftop, arms crossed. “We’re missing something.”

“We’re missing the bastard, is what.” Sanemi snapped.

“No, the demon I feel is deep in the kuruwa when the only people who turn up dead are the oirans…” He paused deep in thought, Tengen exhaled and then continued.

“My wives could infiltrate...”

“No.”

The word came out sharp enough to cut.

Tengen blinked. “No?” He asked his voice low, a hint of warning in it.

“This is a something Oyakata-sama entrusted us with, out most secrecy,” Sanemi snapped. “I don’t want to drag your wives into danger even if they are capable....”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and brittle. Tengen’s expression had cooled considerably, pride pricked.

“Are you questioning my judgment?”

“I’m saying there’s another way.”

Tengen studied him for a long moment, then scoffed. “You got a better option, Shinazugawa?”

“Yeah, I do.” Sanemi grinned, all teeth and dangerous intent.

He sent Sorai to the water estate; it was time for Tanjiro to prove his mettle.

***

Sanemi was perched on a roof with his back to a chimney, chewing irritably on a strip of dried meat, watching Tengen’s brilliant plan unfold below him.

His brilliant plan being disguising Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke as girls. Sanemi had called them to assist them not to disguise them as girls and with how conspicuous the three looked…the mission was very likely to fail.

Sanemi snorted into his sleeve.

“Kami help us,” he muttered. “If the demon dies laughing instead of bleeding, this will be why.”

Zenitsu looked like a terrified porcelain doll, painted within an inch of his life, makeup cracking every time his lip trembled. Tanjiro was stiff with concentration, holding himself too rigidly to pass as anything but a boy in a costume. Inosuke… Sanemi rubbed a hand over his face…the boy was beautiful no other word for it, but Tengen had destroyed him with his ridiculous makeup.

Sanemi watched them go with great amusement and wondered if they would be able to pick the demon out. Sanemi was now stuck watching  over Zenitsu who got separated from Tanjiro, Inosuke and Tengen few days back. At this moment he didn’t know where the three were and he trusted Tengen enough to keep the boys safe.

To his enormous surprise id didn’t take long, when he felt the wave of vile scent of a demon…it was strong…very strong.  Sanemi straightened, hand already on his sword, excited for the fight.

“So,” he murmured, eyes narrowing into the shadowed upper floors of the brothel, “that’s where you’re hiding.”

He burst through the walls to see a demon disguised as a beautiful oiran knock Zenitsu unconscious. Before she could capture him with her sash. Sanemi took Zenitsu away the scream of rage loud enough to echo through the district, following him.

The demon revealed herself in silk and fury, descending like a curse pulled from a painted screen…Daki-upper moon six…they had found her…Oyakata-sama had been right. Obi whipped through the air, buildings splitting, screams echoing as the street tore itself apart. By the time he came back making sure the boy was safe the fight was going on full-fledged. He had expected Tengen fighting her…he had expected the boys fighting her what he had not expected however was the pink-demon fighting her. She looked enraged, the single horn glinting ominously in the light. Daki’s sashes cut her, but she regenerated with a speed that Sanemi hadn’t seen yet.

Sanemi didn’t step into the fight, opting to observe Nezuko as she fought the demon. The sash moved towards the now unconscious Tanjiro who lay behind Nezuko and saw her protecting her brother…just like Giyu had said…but hearing and seeing were two different things. He spotted Tengen who emerged from where the hell he had been these past days, on the roof in front of him who seemed to be frozen too seeing Nezuko protect her brother.

Nezuko erupted, growling in warning before pink flames enveloped Daki who screamed in pain and cowered in fear. The heat…the rage spilling out of a small body that suddenly felt too big, too old, too wrong. Nezuko hit Daki with enough force to turn buildings into splinters.

It was then he noticed that there people in the building and without thinking he moved and began carrying the humans away from the fight. With how Nezuko was going the building was going to collapse, when all the humans were safe, he returned to see Tanjiro struggling to hold Nezuko back, who had started crying with loud sobs.

Tengen moved with soundless precision and demon’s head fell. Sanemi let out a relieved sigh…it was over… but they couldn’t use the device or test out the cure…

“Tanjiro, take Nezuko, search for Zenitsu and Inosuke and go back. We will handle it from here on.” Sanemi called, he watched the boy hesitate for a moment but then he nodded at them and took Nezuko and disappeared.

Daki cried out exclaiming that she was the upper moon six and that she was not weak as Tengen taunted her. Sanemi stiffened something was wrong. She was supposed to turn into ash not cry and call for her brother…why the fuck was she calling for her brother. And to their collective horror another body emerged from her as Daki’s head reattached to her body.

Gyutaro crawled out of Daki’s back like rot given shape.

Sanemi swore viciously.

Before Gyutaro could strike, Sanemi was already moving.

He yanked the device from his belt, thumb flipping the switch even as Gyutaro lunged. It was crude: a compact brass cylinder strapped with insulated wiring and a hand-cranked induction coil, adapted from battlefield signal equipment. When activated, it would emit a violent pulse, disrupting the demon’s internal regeneration like a thunderclap going off inside flesh and freeze it in one place a small window where they could administer the cure.

Sanemi slammed the crank, the pulse tore through the street.

Gyutaro screamed as if something had grabbed his spine and twisted.

“TENGEN!” Sanemi roared.

Tengen was already there, driving the syringe into Gyutaro’s neck with brutal precision. Sanemi tackled Daki, pinning her long enough to inject her as well.

The transformation was unbearable to watch. Their bodies seized, joints twisting at impossible angles. Blood poured from mouths, noses, eyes, ears. The smell was metallic and thick, soaking the air. Daki shrieked until her voice shattered. Gyutaro clawed at his chest, gagging, as if trying to rip something invisible out of himself.

Sanemi ground his teeth, then there was stillness Their skin paled…their veins receded…their fangs disappeared…claws dissolved into trembling fingers. Two humans lay where demons had been…two omegas as their distressed stench swamped them. They huddled together immediately, naked terror and confusion driving them close.

Daki...no, the girl...sobbed uncontrollably. Gyutaro held her with shaking arms, eyes wide, empty, afraid.

For all the blood they’d spilled…Sanemi couldn’t lift his blade. Neither could Tengen for they were no longer demons…humans and omegas at that.

“What do we do?” Tengen asked. Sanemi huffed like he knew any better and he did when he had a doubt…ask Oyakata-sama. Once he had sent Sorai away, he asked Tengen to stay with the now humans turned demons. They took the omegas to the nearest Wisteria house under cover of night.

The order came swift with a note that had an address to take the omegas. Sanemi and Tengen looked at each other. Everything had worked out exactly as Oyakata-sama had said and for that they were euphoric…they had confirmed that they could finish the demons without sustaining any losses and for what to do with the now humans then it was up to Oyakata-sama.

When they reached the address and door opened only a sliver they stopped stunned…Oyakata-sama had sent them to a demon. The demon looked young, lavender eyes with black slit who eyed them just as suspiciously as they eyed him. The omegas huddled closer to Sanemi and Tengen trembling at his sight.

The demon frowned and asked them, “Aren’t you coming in?”

Sanemi and Tengen looked at each and then at the address and looked back at the demon.

Who rolled his eyes and asked, “Are they the upper moon six?”

Their first instinct was to kill him but seeing everything they did from the time the Kamado siblings that fateful day, they decided to trust and follow Oyakata-sama’s orders.

“I am Yushiro.”

The Hashiras remained silent.

“Rude, assholes.” Yushiro muttered. Sanemi wanted to kill him but tamped the urge down. He led them down the hall where another demon was waiting for them. She smiled and Sanemi did not detect any malice from her…would wonders never cease…

Tamayo examined the distressed omegas for hours before she finally concluded.

“They are human,” she said. “Muzan’s hold is gone completely.”

Sanemi let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“A demon,” he muttered, watching Tamayo return to her work without rest, “working harder than most humans to kill Muzan.”

Tamayo didn’t look up.

“I will not stop until he is dead.”

Sanemi believed her.

“Do you remember anything?” She asked the omegas who shook their head, she sighed.

“Your names?”

“M-My s-sister i-is c-called U-Ume…I-I d-don’t h-have a-a n-name….n-never w-was g-given a-a n-name…t-too u-ugly f-for t-that…” The male omega stuttered.

Sanemi looked away unsure what to feel towards them…as pitiful as they looked, they had killed too many people.

“I am leaving.” Sanemi said and went out of the house. His work was done, and he didn’t need to stay and watch what happened afterwards, he had been on this mission for more than a week and a half. All he wanted was to get back to Giyu, who he hoped was done with his mission too.

Chapter Text

It was already the start of the fourth week, and they still hadn’t encountered the demon. The thought of leaving a mission incomplete didn’t sit well with Giyu and it did seem like Tokito thought the same. Neither brought the topic of leaving, for they could feel the cave breathing. The moist air clung to skin; the walls slick with growths that looked disturbingly like scales. Puddles reflected warped shapes that moved when none of them did. The deeper they went, the heavier the pressure became, like something enormous was watching from inside the stone itself.

Then came the sound.

A wet plop.

And laughter evil and condescending.

“Oh my, you two are resilient still alive I see, nothing less expected of Hashiras…then I will bless you with my art...”

The voice slid through the cavern like oil across water, amused and cruel and far too pleased with itself and Giyu let out a sigh of relief…fucking finally…they’d get leave this damned caves…he wanted to feel the sun on his skin again.

From a vase embedded in the rock wall, a pale blue hand emerged...long fingers ending in claws stained dark, another hand grotesque followed. Then a head, face twisted into something that could only vaguely pass as humanoid.

Mouth instead of eyes…he was one ugly demon.

Gyokko.

Upper Moon Five smiled, lips peeling back in delight. “I planned to lead you on for longer, but I have a mission from Muzan-sama…but it was fun to watch you two fumble in the dark for so long…you have been great source of amusement for me. So, I will reward you a quick death as a reward.”

Tokito stiffened beside Giyu. His hand tightened on his blade, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

“Another one that talks too much,” Tokito said flatly. “Let’s just kill him.”

Gyokko laughed, high and shrill. “Straight to the point. how boring. Art deserves appreciation, you know.”

Giyu moved done with demon’s bullshit, all he had to was get closer and activate the device.

Water Breathing Second form Water Wheel, Giyu murmured but the next second the stone beneath him shifted.

The floor beneath Giyu’s foot cracked.

“...Tomioka-san!” Tokito called out in warning

“Tokito!” Giyu yelled, but it was too late.

The ground gave way entirely, swallowing Giyu in a roar of collapsing rock and he dropped fast. His body twisted midair, lungs steady, blade angled as he exhaled slow and controlled. He struck the cavern wall, rebounded, and hit the underground pool below with a controlled crash, sending water surging but not breaking bone. He surfaced instantly, Giyu looked up it was pitch black.

In the meantime, Gyokko’s attention snapped back to the Mist Hashira with sharp interest.

“Well then,” Gyokko purred. “It seems fate has separated you.”

Above, stone flowed.

Dozens of grotesque fish burst from newly formed pots, their mouths splitting open as they spewed clouds of glistening needles.

Tokito vanished into motion.

Mist Breathing blurred the space between fish and blade. Bodies split,  as ichor sprayed everywhere yet more fishes poured out. The needles grazed his arms and the poison burned, Tokito did not pay attention to it.

Gyokko clapped mockingly. “Oh excellent! You’re dancing for me now!”

Tokito grit his teeth, breath stuttering for half a second too long, that was when the water rose.

A vase shattered and reformed midair, its surface flowing like liquid glass. In an instant, Tokito was encased...suspended in a hollow vessel filled with water that was not water.

Gyokko leaned close, eyes gleaming. “Let’s see how long a Hashira can hold his breath before my poison kills you.”

Below, Giyu’s heart slammed and he launched upward, feet hitting stone with blistering force, Water Breathing carrying him back through the collapsed tunnel in a rush of controlled fury.

He broke through just as Gyokko turned.

“Oh?” Gyokko tilted his head. “You survived?”

Giyu didn’t answer.

He attacked, Water Breathing, Third Form...clean, precise, aimed to kill.

Gyokko shrieked in delight as his body warped away, reappearing from another vase. “Silent types are my favourite! They scream louder in the end, and I will make you scream the loudest.” Gyokko cackled.

The fishes emerged from the vase the needles now coming at him within a blink of an eye. Giyu parried, water crashing against stone, blade ringing as the needles narrowly missed his throat.

On the opposite ledge Tokito struggled, the more Giyu tried to go to him the more the ugly demon attacked him.

Don’t panic.

Focus.

Outside the prison, Giyu fought like an unyielding wall of tide and steel. Each movement was precise, every breath measured, even as Gyokko’s voice slithered through the cavern in relentless mockery. Water crashed against stone as Giyu’s blade carved arcs attacked Gyokko. Still, his awareness never drifted far from the translucent prison on the opposite ledge.

“What is it, Water Hashira?” Gyokko crooned, face twisting with delight as another vase bloomed from the cavern wall. “Are you afraid to watch the child drown right in front of you?”

Giyu’s eyes cut to Tokito for a fraction of a heartbeat. Tokito was suspended within the vile liquid, limbs already slowing, lips parted in a reflexive gasp that could not find air. That glance was all the hesitation Giyu allowed himself before his focus snapped back to the demon.

He did not answer.

Water Breathing, Eighth Form surged forward with killing intent as Giyu aimed directly for the vase Gyokko was inhabiting. The ceramic shattered under the force of the strike, water exploding outward as shards rained onto the stone. Gyokko screeched, only to emerge from another vessel several body lengths away, laughing as if the whole thing amused him.

Giyu adjusted his stance, jaw tight. If this continued, Gyokko would simply exhaust them both. They needed the demon out of the vases, what he needed was a single opening.

Mist erupted behind him in a violent bloom.

The prison burst apart in a rolling wave as Tokito tore free, hitting the stone on hands and knees. He coughed violently, retching water and bile, his body shaking uncontrollably as oxygen finally reached his lungs. Giyu felt a surge of relief so sharp it bordered on pain, but he did not give Gyokko even a breath to redirect his attention.

He pressed the attack harder, his sword moving in relentless succession, forcing Gyokko to retreat rather than advance.

Only then did Giyu move back to Tokito.

He was already at the boy’s side when Tokito sagged forward, body trembling, poison burning through his veins. Tokito’s hands clawed weakly at the stone, his breathing uneven and panicked, tears blurring his vision as his strength failed him.

Giyu crouched beside him and reached into his satchel without hesitation. His fingers closed around the antidote, and he injected it cleanly and swiftly into Tokito’s arm.

“Tokito,” Giyu said, keeping his voice calm even as fear coiled tight in his chest. “Take a moment, breathe I’ve got this handled.”

Tokito lifted his head slowly, eyes glassy and unfocused, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. He looked younger than ever then, stripped of battle instincts and brilliance, reduced to a poisoned child clinging to consciousness.

Giyu was about to say more when Gyokko’s presence surged back like a foul tide.

“Oh, how disappointing,” the demon sneered, slipping from another vase as if the stone itself bent to his will. “You should have stayed still, I wanted to watch him die properly.”

The cavern exploded into chaos.

From dozens of vases, grotesque octopuses burst forth, their slick bodies slamming against the rock. Giyu cut through them almost instantly, his blade flashing with lethal efficiency. More followed, then came the swarm of slime coated fish gliding through the air, mouths yawning wide.

Each fell beneath Giyu’s sword.

Gyokko laughed loudly, delighted beyond reason. “You have just sealed your fate, Water Hashira. Every fish you cut releases poison into the air.”

Giyu felt his lungs tighten as the air grew thick and acrid, poison seeping invisibly around him.

Before he could react, mist enveloped the space between them.

Tokito staggered upright and moved to Giyu’s side, his face pale and streaked with tears, but his grip steady on his sword.

“I am sorry for taking so long, Tomioka-san,” Tokito murmured, voice rough but determined.

He swung his blade and the mist shifted, dispersing the poison in the air with controlled precision.

Giyu glanced at him, worry heavy in his chest, but pride threaded through it as well.

“It is time to finish this,” Giyu said evenly.

They charged together.

Water and mist intertwined, movements synchronized through instinct rather than words. Gyokko came out of the vase fully then, his body warping into something monstrous, scales thickening, his tail lengthening as he cried in pride at his form. Tokito faltered once, poison still weakening his body, and Giyu stepped in without thought, absorbing the attack meant for him.

When Giyu created an opening, Tokito struck. When Tokito’s breath hitched, Giyu shielded him.

Gyokko screamed as his head was severed, his body collapsing in a steaming heap of flesh and filth. For a moment, it looked as if the demon might reattach, might recover even from this, and Tokito surged forward on sheer will alone. He did not stop slashing until nothing remained but ash scattering across the cavern floor.

The silence that followed, was abrupt and absolute. They stood there, bloodied and shaking, the enormity of what they had done crashing down on them all at once. They had killed an Upper Moon.

Giyu felt the tremor run through his own body then, exhaustion finally catching up to him. His limbs burned, his lungs ached, and he was certain poison still lingered in his system, but they were alive. They had not used the device or the cure. There had been no time, no time for it Giyu was sure Oyakata-sama would understand.

His focus snapped back when Tokito stumbled. Giyu was moving before the boy could fall, catching him and lowering them both to the ground. He gripped Tokito’s shoulders, checking him quickly, fear spiking anew.

“Tokito,” he said urgently.

Tokito’s hands fisted in Giyu’s uniform as his composure finally shattered.

“I r-remember,” Tokito stammered, voice breaking apart as tears streamed freely. “My brother, m-my p-parents I-I remember them…they d-died…l-leaving me all a-alone.”

Giyu’s arms tightened around him immediately.

Tokito collapsed against Giyu’s chest, sobs ripping out of him with a rawness that echoed through the cavern. His body shook violently, grief crashing into him all at once after years of emptiness. Giyu held him firmly, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other rubbing slow circles along his spine.

He was only thirteen and he had been alone far too long. At least he had the memories to grieve his loved ones...Tokiot did not even have that...

Giyu let the boy cry without interruption, offering nothing but steady warmth and presence. Tokito clung to him as if afraid that letting go would make the memories disappear again. Giyu stayed like that until the sobs softened into uneven breaths, until Tokito’s grip finally loosened by a fraction.

“I am sorry,” Tokito whispered weakly.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Giyu replied gently, stroking blood matted hair away from Tokito’s face. “I understand your pain Tokito, it is okay let it all out I am here.”

Tokito tried to speak again, failed, and finally fell silent.

Ginko and Kanzaburo fluttered close, cawing anxiously in the darkness. Giyu glanced at Kanzaburo, unease settling in his chest at the thought of sending him alone through the caves, but he decided against it.

They waited until Tokito confirmed he could walk, even shakily, and then followed Ginko out. The journey was long and gruelling, almost a full day before they emerged from the cave. The sun was setting when they stepped out, salt air and sea breeze washing over them as Giyu breathed deeply for the first time in weeks. The village was quiet and peaceful again; the stench of demon rot was gone.

They reached the nearest Wisteria house under a rising moon, exhausted, hungry, and filthy. Giyu insisted Tokito send Ginko and Kanzaburo to inform Oyakata-sama of their victory, while the Kakushi tended to their wounds. Tokito protested weakly when food was brought, but Giyu forced him to eat anyway, sitting close and watching him carefully.

Later, after they were cleaned and bandaged, Tokito spoke haltingly of his past. The words came with fresh tears, and Giyu held him again until the boy finally fell asleep in his lap. Giyu did not move him, though his body ached, unwilling to disturb the fragile peace Tokito had found.

He watched the moon that night, thoughts drifting to Sanemi and Obanai, to whether they were safe, whether they worried. He wondered about the children at the Water Estate and felt a quiet ache of longing to return to them all.

Two days later, they left the Wisteria house together. The old woman and the young girl waved them off with smiles. Ginko returned with news that everyone had been worried, that word of their victory had spread quickly. Giyu swallowed hard, knowing without doubt that Sanemi and Obanai had been among those waiting for him to come home.

Tokito clung to Giyu more as the hours passed, with a quiet insistence, as if he was anchoring himself to something solid in a world that had finally begun to feel real again. He stayed close enough that their sleeves brushed when they walked, his fingers often finding their way back to Giyu’s uniform without embarrassment or apology. Giyu did not pull away nor did he shake away his hand. He adjusted his pace instead, making sure Tokito never had to hurry. The change in him was subtle at first, then impossible to ignore. Tokito began to talk.

He asked questions about their route, about the time of day, about how long it would take to reach the estate. Sometimes he spoke about the fight in fragments, corrected his own mistakes out loud, or muttered observations that showed how deeply he analysed everything even after the danger had passed.

Giyu listened to every word, offering brief replies or quiet confirmations, and found himself relieved by the sound of Tokito’s voice. The vacant, drifting boy who used to stare through conversations as though he were half somewhere else was gone. In his place was a child grieving with clarity, in him Giyu saw his past self…the thirteen-year-old who had lost his sister but found comfort in Sabito’s company.

Tokito spoke of his brother in broken pieces. Small memories surfaced without warning, the sound of laughter, the weight of a hand on his shoulder, the way his brother’s voice had always sounded steady even when the world was not. When the tears came, they came without restraint, but they passed more quickly now and Giyu understood that better than he liked.

Tokito had never truly been given the chance to grieve properly either. Loss had come fast and left scars that were expected to be endured in silence. Watching Tokito walk through this pain, with tears and words and trembling breaths, reminded him how unnatural Tokito's silence truly was.

As they travelled, Giyu became increasingly aware of just how extraordinary Tokito was. Even injured and exhausted, the boy’s perception never dulled. He noticed shifts in terrain, adjusted his breathing instinctively, and corrected his posture without prompting. His mind worked constantly, processing, learning, refining. The memories had not broken him. If anything, it sharpened him.

Tokito’s hand slipped into Giyu’s without hesitation. His grip was firm, grounding rather than desperate, and he did not look up or explain himself. Giyu accepted the gesture quietly, his fingers closing around Tokito’s smaller hand as naturally as if it had always been there.

“Tomioka-san, don’t call me Tokito anymore ok.”

“Okay, Muichiro.” Giyu said simply and was awarded with a sweet smile.

“Giyu-san, can I come by the Water Estate sometime?” Tokito asked, looking at him with so much hope. Giyu looked at Tokito holding his hand, calling him Giyu-san and asking if he could come by Water Estate and he was reminded of Tanjiro who had asked the same question...done the same things after they had killed Rui.

“Yes, you can by anytime Muichiro, there are other kids I am sure they would love your company.” Giyu replied.

“You do?” Tokito asked amazed and then continued to grill Giyu about all the kids.

 Tokito’s small hand tightened around his and Giyu wondered what would Sanemi and Obanai say about their ever-expanding family. They continued on that way, side by side, without needing to say anything more.

Sanemi reached Ubuyashiki in high spirits, he…they had been successful in their mission…the stalemate of over a century was finally broken. Oyakata-sama was very pleased with their results and advised them to rest. Sanemi bowed, bid Tengen goodbye and made his way to the Water Estate, he did not want to ask about Giyu in front of Tengen. When he reached the Water Estate, he found the kids and to his utter surprise Obanai, who looked annoyed as hell but still there.

The kids swarmed him, Tanjiro was smiling too brightly, Zenitsu was talking over himself, Inosuke nearly headbutted him in greeting, and Genya lingered just behind them, eyes cautious but warm. The enthusiasm hit Sanemi like a gust of wind, sudden enough that it made him stumble a half-step.

Genya’s smile cut through everything else. It was small and genuine, and it made something in Sanemi’s chest ease despite himself. Maybe he was doing something right, finally.

And then he saw Obanai, leaning against one of the pillars, arms folded, expression carved permanently into irritation, Obanai looked like he had been dragged there against his will. Yet he was still there, that alone surprised Sanemi more than he cared to admit. The kids noticed Sanemi’s stare and parted enough to let him breathe.

Tanjiro’s smile softened. “Giyu-san is still away.”

Sanemi nodded slowly. That made sense. If Giyu and Tokito were still deep into their mission, no Kasugai would be sent, logic said there was nothing wrong…but his gut disagreed. The estate felt hollow without Giyu’s presence, too quiet despite all the noise. Like the air itself was waiting

“So, why are you here.?” Sanemi asked, when the kids had left them alone.

Obanai clicked his tongue. “Someone had to make sure they didn’t burn the house down.”

Sanemi snorted. “You’re telling me you’ve been babysitting the brats, including the Kamados, without threats or violence?”

“I have long since let go of my resentment,” Obanai muttered, eyes firmly elsewhere.

“Yes, yes,” Sanemi drawled. “You’re a living Buddha.”

“Fuck off, Sanemi.”

The edge in Obanai’s voice was sharp enough that Sanemi raised his hands in mock surrender. The anger behind those mismatched eyes was familiar, raw, and tied to the same knot twisting in Sanemi’s chest.

“When did you get back?” Sanemi asked after a while.

“I haven’t been assigned to a mission yet.” Obanai muttered. Sanemi snorted, he could see the strain in Obanai’s posture, the restlessness that came from being forced to wait. Idle time never sat well with either of them.

“I finished the Upper Moon Six.” Sanemi boasted.

“Die, you asshole.”

Sanemi laughed, pleased, almost giddy at the flash of jealousy that crossed Obanai’s face.

“I know,” Obanai deadpanned. “Tanjiro told me. He also said his sister handled most of it while you stood around, so technically the victory belongs to Nezuko.” Sanemi cursed the big-mouthed brat.

“At least I was doing important work…not like you who were…” Sanemi ran when he saw Obanai pull his sword.

A week passed and there was still no news from Giyu. What had started as a dull worry sharpened into something relentless. The kids sensed it too. They became quieter, more observant, careful not to ask questions that hovered in the air between Sanemi and Obanai every day. Every morning, they found themselves at the Ubuyashiki Estate, lingering longer than necessary, listening for a Kasugai’s wings, searching his face for answers.

They were always told the same thing, that Giyu and Tokito were fine. Oyakata-sama’s certainty was gentle and unwavering, but it did little to ease the tension clawing at Sanemi’s ribs. It would not fade until he saw Giyu himself, alive and breathing and stubborn as ever.

To distract himself he installed new lamps and bulbs in the Estate which had been destroyed that fateful night…the Estate would be bright and welcoming when Giyu came back. He saw the empty pond and remembered the order for Koi he had placed. By the time he got back to the water estate it was already night. He knelt by the pond, yellow bulb light rippling across the water as he released the fish one by one, watching the flashes of colour disappear beneath the surface.

He felt her before he saw her, Nezuko, in her small, childlike form, padded over and sat beside him, humming softly. She watched the koi with wide-eyed fascination, pointing at them, then at Sanemi, as if asking if he had brought them, Sanemi nodded stupidly.

Now, under the moonlight she did not feel like a demon that had fought Daki few days back. Something quiet and painful had shifted in Sanemi’s chest as he watched her smile at the fish, wonder sparking in her eyes. When she patted his arm, approving and gentle, his throat tightened unexpectedly.

Obanai stood a short distance away, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a faint, amused tilt to his head.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “You’re not the only one getting soft.”

Sanemi huffed but did not argue.

Before they could even consider going out to search for Giyu themselves, the summons came. Sanemi was called back to the Ubuyashiki Estate once more.

Obanai did not say anything he too simply followed, already refusing to be left behind again, no matter where Sanemi was headed next.

It was two days later when the night split open with a scream. Giyu and Tokito had been moving along a forest road when Giyu smelled blood, fresh and sharp enough that it made his lungs tighten. Giyu stopped, one hand lifted in silent warning.

“I think there is a demon ahead and by the malice in the air I feel it is a lower moon at the minimum. Muichiro, be ready with the device and the cure. We are injured and exhausted, the first strike and we use them, okay?” Giyu whispered. Tokito gave a resolute nod, and they followed the sound together until the trees thinned and the scene opened before them.

A man was pinned upright against a tree, arms twisted back and bound with rope soaked dark. His eyes were wide in terror, unfocused with pain, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. In front of him stood a demon with pink hair that caught the moonlight like stained glass and skin carved in glowing blue markings. The demon who busy was eating another man in front of the tied man, his terrified whimpers echoing through the trees. Giyu’s breath stopped, he had to save him.

When the demon turned, smiling as if he had been waiting for an audience, recognition hit like a blow to the chest. Upper Moon Three…Akaza.

Rengoku’s voice rang in his skull, clear and unbearable. A warning he had failed to pass on. Giyu’s grip tightened on his sword until his knuckles burned, guilt surging hot and violent. How dare he have called Sanemi an idiot when he himself had led a thirteen-year-old straight toward this.

Akaza’s gaze slid over them with open delight, eyes bright, pupils sharp.

“Oh?” he said pleasantly.

“Demon-slayers... Muzan-sama will be pleased, I will enjoy breaking you.”

“Be ready Muichiro.” Giyu whispered

“Enough whispering!” Akaza laughed, and vanished.

He reappeared not in front of one, but directly above them, his leg a blur as he kicked downward.

“Destructive Death: Air Type!”

A shockwave of invisible, crushing force exploded outward. But the Hashira were already gone. Giyu flowed to the left, his blade arcing in a smooth, powerful slash.

“Water Breathing, Fourth Form: Striking Tide!” Multiple strikes lashed out like a raging river.

At the same instant, Muichiro melted into the shadows to the right.

“Mist Breathing, Second Form: Eight-Layered Mist.” A complex layered assault of eight swift, disorienting cuts fanned out towards Akaza’s flank.

Akaza’s grin widened. He didn’t dodge. He met them head-on. His fists became a storm, moving with impossible speed and precision. Smash! Smash! Smash!

He shattered Giyu’s watery strikes with brutal punches, the shockwaves parrying the blade itself. He spun, his legs intercepting Muichiro’s layered mist, kicking through the illusions to find the true blade with a deafening clang of flesh on steel.

“You’re too weak!” Akaza taunted, driving a fist towards Muichiro’s chest. The young Hashira twisted, using the momentum of his deflected blade to pivot away, but the shockwave of the punch grazed his side, tearing his uniform and drawing blood.

Giyu immediately stepped in front of him and he surged forward. “Water Breathing, Eighth Form: Waterfall Basin!” A powerful, single target thrust aimed for Akaza’s neck. Akaza leaned back, letting the blade pass inches from his throat, then immediately countered with a crushing uppercut. Giyu shifted his stance, deflecting the blow with a circular motion of his sword, but the impact rattled his bones and sent pain sparking up his arm.

The battle became a desperate dance. Muichiro, leveraging his small size and speed, wove in and out of range, using Mist Breathing’s obscuring techniques to create after-images and feints. Giyu acted as the anchor, his solid, relentless Water Breathing creating openings and parrying Akaza’s most devastating blows. They were perfectly complementary...Giyu’s power and Muichiro’s evasion...but they were losing.

Giyu caught Muichiro’ eyes and nodded this was enough they had to finish him now before he killed them…and he could not let that happen…not when he had his kids who were waiting for him…not when his alphas were waiting for him…not when a thirteen-year-old was fighting alongside him. The protective urge to save everyone in the vicinity overwhelmed Giyu. Akaza noticed and his grin widened.

“You’re protecting even now?” he asked, head tilting. “They break so easily….weak and fragile as they are…let it go…and tell me your…”

Giyu did not allow him to finish, he raised his blade, calmed his mind slowed his breath and heartbeat, entering a state of tranquillity.

Eleventh form Dead Calm

The storm stopped, Akaza struck and struck again, but every blow met flawless deflection. Water formed a perfect stillness between them, untouched despite the violence crashing against it. For the first time, Akaza hesitated.

“I have never seen this,” he said slowly. “A Water Hashira like this, you are strong. Worthy of being my opponent.”

Mist surrounded them again, but Akaza dodged his laugh echoing in the woods. Giyu intercepted, with his Second Form Water Wheel and Giyu cut his arm. Tokito was right behind Akaza he flipped the device, activation sharp and immediate. Akaza’s body locked mid-motion and Tokito drove the needle into his neck without hesitation.

Giyu took out his and activated his device too. Akaza was way too powerful to not use every resource under the hands. Giyu and Tokito breathed heavily as they watched the now frozen upper moon.

His body had locked mid-movement, muscles seizing as if time itself had snapped shut around him. He toppled forward and hit the ground hard, unmoving.

The forest went silent, but they did not relax, they counted their breaths while wacthing the now frozen demon. Giyu held the second injection in his hand ready to inject if it didn’t work. Akaza’s eyes flickered up to them. When he spoke again, his voice was no longer bright with mockery. It was raw…confused.

“Why,” he whispered, staring at his hands. “Why protect the weak?”

“Because it is the responsibility of the strong.” Giyu answered quietly.

Akaza gaped, then his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the ground but there was no significant change. Giyu looked at Tokito who was eyeing the upper moon with the same weariness as him. The change wasn’t happening, but it did make the demon freeze. His markings still glowed, the scent of malice still in the air…he had not turned human.

Giyu didn’t hesitate he knelt and injected the second dose. This time…this time there was a change and Akaza convulsed, they flinched back Giyu pulling Tokito to his side.

Blood poured from Akaza’s mouth in choking, wet gasps, splattering the forest floor. He clawed at his throat, choking on something invisible as the blue markings burned, then began to fade…slowly and unevenly...except the ones on his forearms.

When it was over, Akaza sagged onto his side, trembling violently, when he opened his eyes, the upper moon number in his eyes was now gone along with the kanji. But he was still a demon…his pupils were still slit…eyes just like Nezuko’s.

Giyu stared down at him, confused…what the hell had happened…wasn’t he supposed to turn into a human. Giyu straightened slowly, confusion and unease twisting through him as they stood over the trembling figure who cried quietly into the forest floor, unsure what he had become and unsure what they were meant to do next.