Chapter Text
*~🍃~*
As Sanemi picks at the food in front of him, Giyu wastes no time in stealing a piece of salmon and tucking it into his own mouth, his lips plastered with a satisfied smile after he’s finished his own. Although Sanemi should eat, his appetite hasn’t shown itself tonight, but it didn’t stop him from cooking a meal after he requested fresh fish and any vegetables in season to be delivered to the Water Estate. Giyu has devoured the daikon and pushed the mushrooms aside, which only prompts Sanemi to take some off his own plate and offer them to him, knowing Giyu will reject them.
As he reaches for another piece of salmon, Sanemi gives in and slides the rest of it onto his plate. Giyu’s face lights up like a child — it’s a little ridiculous, really. At the low table Sanemi crafted, he rests his cheek in his palm, propped up on his elbow no matter how improper it is, and watches the Water Pillar indulge in a meal so simple.
“Not hungry tonight?” Giyu asks, waiting to swallow his food before he speaks. Sanemi can appreciate the table manners, but grains of rice still stick to the corners of Giyu’s mouth. Swiftly, Sanemi swipes them away with his thumb, brushing against the warmth of Giyu’s skin, wishing he could get himself to let his hand stay there just a moment longer.
A request eats away at his stomach from the inside — Sanemi wouldn’t be able to hold down his food even if he tried. But Giyu looks so content, he couldn’t ruin that by asking. Not now. “I ate before I came.”
“I could’ve made something in that case,” Giyu says. “I feel bad for eating what you’ve made if you’re not going to enjoy it with me.”
Sweet Giyu. His eyes gleam, but are tinged with something Sanemi can only assume is guilt. Maybe his own eyes look the same. “You shouldn’t. Did you enjoy your meal?”
Giyu nods, smiling, and that’s the only answer Sanemi needs.
“Then I did my job.”
Giyu stacks their empty bowls and scoots them towards himself. Sanemi cooked, so Giyu handles the dishes and vice versa on the rare occasion that Giyu mans the kitchen. Apparently that was their agreement before, and Giyu likes it that way. Sanemi finds no reason to argue with that, especially when Giyu stands up, dishes in hand, humming cheerfully as he goes to scrub them off.
He’s in a good mood tonight.
At least that makes one of them.
Sanemi wouldn’t say he’s in a bad mood exactly, better to say he can feel his skin crawling and the food he burned off while training is somehow finding its way up. It’s been two days since he met with Tokito and Iguro, and tomorrow they plan on meeting at the same training grounds. This time, with Giyu, who is humming and smiling and has no idea that two Hashira have requested for him to join them — two Hashira who are setting themselves up for disappointment, and himself, who can’t allow it to happen.
So Sanemi hasn’t asked about it yet, knowing he should, since Giyu deserves to choose. He always gets a choice, especially since he didn’t choose to end up here.
“Is something bothering you tonight?” Giyu asks, turning around to look at Sanemi. Sanemi still has his elbow on the table, which he pulls away from when he realizes.
Yes , but the words still catch in his throat and they’re not ready to come up. It’s a simple question, one Giyu may just say no to. Sanemi can pass it off as a simple decline of their offer — not so different from all of the other times Giyu said no to sparring with him before. The three of them can proceed as normal until the night calls them away, and Sanemi can deal with Iguro’s stupid comments and hope Tokito doesn’t catch on to them.
He lies, and the words burn as they slip off his tongue. “I can’t figure out the song you’re humming,” he says instead.
Giyu raises a brow. Sanemi would be surprised if he bought that, if he believes him at all. Lately he’s felt like a terrible liar.
But still, he goes along with it. “Because it doesn’t exist here.”
Sanemi can’t wrap his head around that, but with all he’s learned in the recent months, he’s grown acquainted with the feeling of knowing absolutely nothing. In some way, he’s sure Giyu has too.
Giyu takes his hands off the dishes, flicking the excess water off his skin and patting his hands dry. “There are songs we used to listen to that I think I’d give anything, or at least pay a lot of money to hear one last time. It’s kind of a shame.”
“You should sing then,” Sanemi tells him. “So you don’t lose them.”
“I’ve never been much of a singer. But I loved to dance,” Giyu says, holding a hand out to him. Extended out in front of him, it looks like an invitation — one Sanemi thinks he’d be a fool to accept.
But Sanemi’s never been anything but a fool, so he finds himself standing upright, reaching for Giyu’s hand, unsure why if not the need to feel his touch — the warmth of Giyu’s fingers wrapped around his own.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” Sanemi says. Chokes would be a better word for the way he stumbles on his words, just as he does his feet as he leans into Giyu. “At all.”
A grin pulls at Giyu’s lips like a memory brought to light. Such a bittersweet sight to behold. “You never were.”
It’s embarrassing how helpless Sanemi feels, like the Wind Pillar can conquer anything but a dance in their kitchen. “I don’t know how to hold you,” he admits bashfully. Pathetic doesn’t cover it — his wandering hands can’t place themselves, they roam like they have no home. Sanemi freezes, pulling away slowly.
“Like this,” Giyu says, taking Sanemi’s hand into his own. He wraps his fingers around his, holding their hands at shoulder level, and brings Sanemi’s other hand to his waist. When Giyu slings his other arm around Sanemi’s neck, pulling him in closer, that’s the best part. “Just like this.”
He sways their bodies side to side, slowly, but it’s all so foreign to Sanemi. When he starts taking small steps, Sanemi attempts to follow his lead, trusting Giyu’s movements. Sanemi’s never danced like this before — he doesn’t remember the last time he danced at all. Maybe when he was little, so innocent and unknowing of the world around him. To Giyu it must be so obvious, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
No, telling by the smile on his face and the glimmer in his eyes, he doesn’t mind at all.
“Am I doing this right?” Sanemi asks, knowing he’s not but surely he can’t be as bad at this as he feels like he is. God, he must look like a fool right now. But slowly those worries start to fade away.
If it keeps the smile on Giyu’s face beaming like it is right now, he’ll make a fool out of himself again, and again, and again.
“You’re doing great. We can stop though, if you want.”
The request is at the tip of Sanemi’s tongue, but he still can’t get himself to ask. For now, he wants to pretend the world around them doesn’t exist — like Giyu can continue looking at him for all that he is, accepting all that he’s ever been, like he’ll never lose him, even though he might.
“No, that’s okay.” Sanemi leans in to kiss him, pressing his lips softly against his. Giyu is only slightly shorter, the perfect height for Sanemi to find his lips. He brings their hands to his chest and Sanemi can feel his heart pounding — he knows Giyu can feel it too. Maybe part of him wants Giyu to feel it, to have his heart pound against his skin, to remind him that they’re here and they’re alive and the world hasn’t gone to shit yet. A reminder that despite it all, they’ve found each other, and whatever may happen, they’ll find each other again.
They’re running out of time, but tonight Sanemi wants to pretend like they’re not. If only for tonight, he wants to act like their life is normal. Like they’re back in the life Giyu once had where they could dance in silence in their kitchen, to where the only noises that rose in the air were the sounds of their pattering footsteps and meshed heartbeats, Giyu’s hushed giggles and the sharp exhale when Sanemi smiles.
Tonight, all Sanemi wants is to indulge in the feeling of falling so in love with Tomioka Giyu, he hardly knows what to do with himself. He wants to trip over his own feet while they dance, to stumble over his words and forget how to speak and how to kiss and learn it all over again.
When Giyu holds him like this, it’s hard to think of anything else.
“What do you want after all of this is over?” Giyu asks him, so close their lips brush over each other with every word.
To kiss, to touch, to live, all of it. All of it with Giyu — that’s the easy answer. That’s the answer he should give him, to say I love you and all I want is you and we can figure it out as we go . But Sanemi knows that’s only part of it, and he’s never been able to give too much thought to what he wants, knowing he’ll never have it. But now, he can. They’ll survive this and he can.
God, he hopes they can.
But Giyu is not all Sanemi wants — if only it were so simple to have one desire and keep it at the forefront of his mind. But Sanemi is selfish: he wants, and wants, and wants . He wants all of the things he can’t have, he fights for the things he wants even when it’s not right. Even when he knows he’s wrong.
He sighs. “It doesn’t really matter what I want, Giyu.”
“Yes it does. It always does.”
“Can I make it easy and just say you?”
“You already have me,” Giyu says. “Something else. Anything.”
It’s not a simple ask, but one he would beg the universe to grant him if it were to be so kind. For Giyu’s safety, for their survival. For a life to live after this with everyone he’s found a place for. For a piece of him to return like it had never left.
“I want my brother back,” Sanemi says, pulling himself away, just slightly. He wants to see the look in Giyu’s eyes, but it kills him, the way the glimmer seems to fade. “My brother, and a family. No kids, but a family with everyone I love.”
“When you think of that family, who’s there?” Giyu asks him.
Sanemi hardly feels his feet lift off the ground until his ankle bumps the low table. At least it’s sturdy enough to remain in place. He mutters a quick shit and Giyu laughs, and suddenly the pain subsides.
A family — it’s been so long since he’s even been able to consider it, so long since it’s been in his reach, too long since he lost it. He longs for the busy mornings and tender evenings, the shared meals and contagious laughter. If he could have one thing in his life, if the universe were to be so generous towards the likes of Shinazugawa Sanemi, it would be that. Family, but with the people he chooses. Family with the people he’s just ended up with — those he’s found his life intertwined with.
“You and Genya,” Sanemi says, feeling a sad smile creep on his lips. Genya, Genya, Genya. He should be there too, after all of this is over. “Iguro, probably Kanroji too. I always imagine her there.”
Giyu, Genya, Iguro, the Master if he wants to be idealistic but Sanemi knows what’s coming. He can’t include him in his plans, even if he’d give everything for him to be there. For him to watch Sanemi grow into the man he’s becoming, for him to be proud of him. He knows it won’t happen.
But as for the rest, they have a fighting chance. As Hashira, they’ll fight. He and Iguro have made sure of that. As for Genya, he’ll leave before the end. He’ll find a way to get him out of here before it starts. Sanemi has always figured it out before, this time is no different.
“So you've come around to Kanroji,” Giyu smiles playfully.
Sworn to secrecy, even if part of him is still pissed at Iguro. “She’s more of a package deal and that’s all I’ll say.”
“I think I’d like that too,” Giyu says, tightening his grip on Sanemi’s hand. “With Shinobu, and Tanjiro, and you. We can visit the Uzuis like he asked.”
For once, Sanemi doesn’t wince at the sound of Kamado’s name, nor can he think twice about Giyu wanting to keep the kid around. Not when Giyu’s eyes are locked on Sanemi’s, looking at him like Sanemi holds the god damn world. He doesn’t deserve him — Sanemi’s done nothing to deserve Giyu and yet here they are, making future plans and swaying to the beat of nothing, and Giyu thinks Sanemi deserves a place in his life after all of this.
The thought of waking up next to Giyu every morning, the sun rising and bringing a new day in a new world, one not ridden with demons. Night will fall with a newfound peace, one they will grow used to with time until they forget the feeling of survival and they finally get to live. Live out their days like they want to, spend the time they have left doing everything they’ve ever wanted to but were never able to. To be in love from twenty-one to twenty-five. Sanemi can give him the best years of his life.
“What else do you want?” Giyu asks, and it is not Sanemi who holds the world, but him. The world and the universe and all its stars, every lifetime and every bit of his soul reflected in his eyes. Blue that rivals the clearest rivers — so pretty, Sanemi isn’t sure he knew what beauty was before them.
You, you, you — everything with you.
There’s not much else Sanemi can wish for. The people he loves, a life of peace. No demons, years to spend doing whatever he pleases, whenever he wants, without the threat of doomsday looming over him. A natural death, brought on by the curse of the mark or not, but never having to consider each night his last from the threat of demons. No more missions, no more Pillar duties. No more Demon Slayers.
Peace. Tranquility. A calm like he’s never felt before.
For years it’s seemed like he seeks the thrill of havoc around him, like a wind that never dies after it picks up, rushing through the world around him without stopping. But now, he thinks he seeks the opposite. After a while, the chaos catches up with you, and Sanemi can only wish to be done with it soon. To live normally, peacefully, to embrace the mundane.
“To have a normal life.” A life his family should’ve had, one Masachika should’ve lived to see. One Kanae could’ve lived with her sisters, one everyone else was stripped of. “And I think I want to see what else is out there that I’m missing. Maybe the sea,” Sanemi says. Giyu extends their arms and twirls his body slowly. The way he catches the light is nearly blinding, how it seems the rays of moonlight have shown through the windows just for him. “My mom always said it was beautiful.” And Sanemi has an eye for pretty things. From what his mother told him before, it seems like a place that holds everything he wants, a certain calmness he can’t get here amongst the calamity. “She never took us since seven kids were hard to take anywhere, and my father never let us go too far either.”
“Then I’ll take you to the sea,” Giyu says, pulling himself away from Sanemi’s reach, almost losing his hand. Almost as if by instinct, Sanemi holds it tighter, and Giyu chuckles like he notices. “We’ll go to the sea and collect shells to keep in your pockets and bury ourselves in the sand. I want to see you write our names in it, and we’ll wander off the coast until our feet can’t touch the bottom.”
“Is that what people do there?”
“That’s what you liked to do.”
Sanemi smiles. Whoever he was in another lifetime feels like a distant friend, no longer a stranger, someone he doesn’t recognize — but somebody he sees himself in, even if it’s only bits and pieces.
“What about you, Giyu?” Sanemi whispers, quiet enough for him to only faintly hear. The way Giyu looks at him pierces him like he can’t strip his eyes away. He wants to lean in but nerves hold him back like he’s never been kissed before. This is what it must feel like to be so in love he can’t breathe, like he swallows his words before he can say them and all he can do is look in awe at what he has in the palms of his hands. “What do you want?” Whatever it is, Sanemi can only wish to give it to him. Material things, he’ll find them, he’ll make sure he has them all. Trips and experiences and time to be spent, he’ll make them happen. He’ll live for him, live for the both of them. Fight with his teeth bared so they all survive.
Giyu thinks for a moment, never leaving Sanemi’s gaze. “I want everything I already had. I want Sabito and Tsutako. I want to feel my friend at my side. I want to hear his laugh when he makes a joke that he thinks is really good. I want to hear my sister’s voice and feel the warmth of her embrace. I want my parents. I want to know they’re okay.”
Everything Sanemi wants now feels so, so superficial. Of course he wants his family too, the one he didn’t choose but the family he was born into. He wants his mother back — to feel her gentle touch on his cheeks, for her to soothe the scars on his skin. He wants to see his siblings again — measure how tall they would have grown over the years. He wants the time that was stolen, he can only wish to take it back. He’d do anything for one last meal together, one he cooked with the cheap pork he’d buy from down the road when he earned extra money. Anything for his mother’s ohagi and the recipe he’s never quite perfected — always missing something he can never ask her for.
Talks of the sea sound so stupid in comparison.
“But I know I can’t have that anymore, and I’m not okay with it but I can’t do anything to change it. So I want to figure this out,” Giyu says, the sorrow in his eyes shifting to something lighter — something hopeful. It looks good on him, happiness looks decedent. “I want everything you want, but also to find what I want here. I know nothing but the corps, and there must be so much out there that maybe one day, after all of this, we can go see.”
“We?” There it is again, Giyu’s desire to have Sanemi be part of his plans, even if he’s still forming them. Sanemi can hardly believe he’s so set on it, that Giyu thinks he’s deserving of such a place in his life, for the rest of it.
“Yes, because I want you to be there too. Don’t act like you’re surprised.”
Giyu leans in, missing Sanemi’s lips, and presses a long kiss to his cheek. There’s warmth right at the outer edge of the scar that runs across the middle, right over the bridge of his nose. The reminder of life falling apart every time he sees his reflection, the death of Shinazugawa Sanemi and the birth of the Wind Hashira. The beginning of the end.
To be so loved. To love in return. He can only hope this works out for both of them, because Sanemi will never come back from a loss this heavy — he’s had enough of it. His heart has no room for grief anymore. Giyu’s heart is surely larger than his has ever been.
“Sanemi, what was really bothering you tonight?” Giyu asks, his lips brushing the raised skin of Sanemi’s scars. He rests his head on his shoulder, the gasps of his breath warming the bare skin of Sanemi’s neck.
Sanemi lets out a long sigh. The moment wasn’t meant to last any longer, and reality had to catch up to him eventually. It always does.
If only he could’ve held onto this for a little longer before everything became real again. Before he has to think about a fight he’s not sure they can win, before he remembers what he has to risk to make sure they do.
A short glimpse of perfection is never enough.
“Iguro and Tokito want you to join us tomorrow night. They want you to train with us,” Sanemi says. His mouth goes dry, pulling away to look at Giyu, to read his expression when all he wants is to feel the warmth of his face nuzzled into his shoulder again. “The choice is yours. You don’t have to—”
“Yes,” Giyu says, his face earnest, his voice unwavering. He answers like he’s sure of himself, and a few months ago, Sanemi would hardly recognize the man he’s grown into. “I’ll join you. I want to.”
“Giyu, they’re nothing like the other demon slayers,” Sanemi warns. Hashira-level is not an easy feat, and most people don’t last very long once they’ve reached it.
“I know.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?” Sanemi doesn’t think so, not at all.
“No, but I’m not afraid either.” Giyu’s eyes don’t lie, and there’s no hint of fear in them, only pure determination that Sanemi would never win a fight against, even if he tries right now. He’s already lost. “If I am a Hashira, I should train as one. I want to join you.”
“I can tell them to take it easy.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Can I please just help you?” Sanemi asks. He can hear the way his voice cracks, and if Giyu isn’t scared then Sanemi makes up for it. This is why he became a demon slayer; not just for vengeance or to rid the world of evil, but to protect all that he has left when they can’t protect themselves as well as Sanemi can. “Please.”
Giyu smiles as if he knows, he knows what Sanemi is thinking, but he’s made up his mind. “Let me do this for myself.”
The fear of Giyu saying no was really nothing — he could have made something up and dealt with Tokito and Iguro for the rest of the night. Giyu could have kept that gap between their skills a secret instead of widening it further. Saying no, was never really much of a fear at all.
“Then we’ll meet tomorrow at dusk.”
It was the off chance that Giyu would say yes.
*~🌊~*
The walk to the training grounds is so silent, Giyu begins to count the steps he climbs up the stairs to reach it. At three hundred twenty-seven, he stops to see how much further he has to go, and his first mistake is looking down. It’s best to just keep going up, since he’s come this far anyway.
That seems to be the way he’s trying to look at things lately: he’s put in so much work to be a Pillar, and after Tanjiro half-motivated half-guilt tripped him into joining the Hashira training, Giyu can’t get himself to fall back into desolation.
Before he reaches the top, he can hear the three Pillars training as they wait. Giyu can feel the weight of Sanemi’s technique, the wind in his hair, brushing over his skin.
Giyu’s heart pounds in his chest, each step up the stairs growing heavier as if to cement him to the ground. Be not afraid, be not afraid, be not afraid. He told Sanemi he wasn’t scared, and the words cut like knives as they rose in his throat. No secrets, no reasons to lie anymore, even for Sanemi’s sake — but maybe just this one time.
Truthfully, Giyu can’t tell Sanemi how his hands tremble at his sides as he ascends the steps to the training grounds. How vulnerable he feels as he faces two other Hashira, how he knows he can’t meet their expectations. But even when given the choice, Giyu knows denying this request would be the wrong one. He knows any Hashira would do this, so he will, even if his heart threatens to stop in the process.
“Tomioka, you actually showed up,” Iguro says, unimpressed and halting his next attack on Sanemi.
Sanemi stops too, his feet skidding across the dirt as he steadies himself. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, looking at Giyu with his jaw slack. “You made it,” he says, softer than he probably wanted. Iguro shoots him a look that Sanemi promptly ignores, his eyes only on Giyu.
Giyu has never felt so exposed in his life.
“We can battle two on two,” Tokito says, his voice low but even, calm like his breathing style. “Shinazugawa, I’ll team up with you.”
“No way,” Sanemi tells him. “I said next time I’d kick your ass, kid.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Great, because I want to take on Tomioka,” Iguro says, scanning Giyu from top to bottom, like he can see through him — his every flaw, all of his incompetencies. “Alone.”
“No,” Sanemi’s eyes pierce Iguro’s, his gaze deep and unrelenting.
Sanemi would shield Giyu from danger no matter what it cost him, and that fact remains constant in any lifetime they may meet in. But this one is different — in this life, Giyu can’t rely on Sanemi to keep him safe. “I’ll take you on,” he tells Iguro, swallowing hard and hoping the fear goes down with it.
“While they’re sparring, we can use the other side of the training grounds,” Tokito says, sheathing his sword and turning his back.
“No!” Sanemi says, almost too quickly. He clears his throat, collecting himself before he slips. “It would be beneficial to practice proximity with other battles. In real combat, there is no control of your surroundings. There could be a separate battle happening right beside you, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it if you were focused on an opponent.”
“Shinazugawa is right,” Iguro says, to which Giyu nearly hangs his mouth open in shock at his lack of opposition. “We’ll attack and dodge at the same time. We don’t know what to expect from what’s coming, so we should prepare for anything.”
This sounds great for them — swordsmen who are trained for this kind of combat — but a nightmare for Giyu. At least he can try to take on Iguro by himself, but while dodging Tokito and Sanemi, even if their attacks are not directed at him? He’s never been so perceptive, especially not in crisis, not in chaos.
He nearly looks at Sanemi with eyes that beg to be rescued, and he knows he’d step in and do it. But it would also hurt him and Giyu knows it — such helplessness when Sanemi is trying to train for the upcoming battle, for the nights he’s dedicated to sparring and sacrificed sleep for, all while trying to keep Giyu alive. Giyu knows, even if he hates it, even if he wishes it didn’t have to be like this, that he must keep himself alive, no matter the cost.
So instead of vomiting like he wants to, he swallows it down and takes his stance, his hands trembling around the hilt of his sword. Giyu takes a deep breath — long, ever so consuming in his lungs, and wills his body to relax. Fear has no place here, fear will only hold him back. It always does.
Sanemi opens his mouth to speak, but before he can get a word out, Iguro has already made his first move. It winds and curls in front of Giyu, feeling the energy wrap around his sword so he can’t attack. All he can do is step back, evade the best he can, try to think of which technique he can pull from his toolbelt.
First Form: Water Surface Slash.
The single horizontal slash seems like a joke to the Serpent Pillar, who blocks it in one swift movement. He’s fast — too quick for Giyu to properly react in any way other than raising his sword to block Iguro’s next attack.
The Serpent Pillar lives up to his title, igniting a certain fear in Giyu’s chest he’s not quite certain is due to him or the snake coiled around his neck. If he steps too close, he feels as though he’d walk straight into its jaws, offering himself to the snap of its fangs and a sharpened blade. It hisses at him and Giyu takes a step back, tightening his grip on his sword. Sanemi has never once mentioned this snake and how it in itself serves as another weapon, like it grants Iguro another set of eyes. Giyu attempts another form, one he can say he’s mastered by now, one he hasn’t used in real combat but has promptly sent Sanemi tumbling on his ass with a time or two.
Third Form: Flowing Dance.
If his opponent’s attacks recoil and strike at a moment’s notice, Giyu must try his best to beat him at his own game, even if trying his best solely means he’s not playing himself for a fool on this battlefield. Iguro is agile and dangerous, his movements have no order that Giyu can keep a steady eye on — slithering and stealthy, so with his own attack he’ll bend his blade and try to counter the winding motion as best he can.
Playing a card he actually knows how to use is odd — the moment is fleeting, but it’s freeing. He can feel the energy flow through his limbs, rushing towards the surface of his skin like water carried by a thrashing current. It’s so quick, if he weren’t so in tune with his body by now then he’d miss it, the sudden rush of strength that feels like power, even when he’s used to being powerless.
It doesn’t last long. Iguro sees right through him, his snake beside him exposing its forked tongue and piercing fangs. It periscopes, raising its body above Iguro’s shoulder and lurches forward right as Iguro charges in a twisting motion, curving his sword in directions it shouldn’t even be able to move in.
Defensive, he needs anything defensive but can’t seem to pull the right move. So Giyu ducks, missing the force of Iguro’s strike and sending it right towards Sanemi and Tokito.
“What the hell, man!” He hears Sanemi shout with the force of the attack ricocheting off his blade. “Watch where you’re striking!”
“Isn’t that the point of this exercise, Shinazugawa?” Tokito asks in a calm voice, which Giyu can only assume does wonders for Sanemi’s growing irritation.
As much as he’d like to focus on the sound of Sanemi’s voice, the pounding in Giyu’s chest urges him to move — to strike before Iguro gets another chance to. The Serpent Pillar’s fighting style is drastically different from Sanemi’s, who opts to taunt his opponents (even when it’s Giyu) and get under their skin just enough to let them slip beneath the cracks, granting him an opening to strike. Iguro, on the other hand, silently watches his opponent like he’s just set sights on his prey, analyzing Giyu’s every movement, seeing through them with another set of eyes. When it comes to brute strength, Sanemi has him beat. But strategy? Giyu doesn’t think he could ever admit it out loud, but Iguro is damn frightening.
Second Form: Water Wheel.
Iguro’s already attacked him from below, so Giyu has no way to go but up, finding his feet at a disconnect with the ground, lunging forward with a circular slash.
“ Shit,” he hears Iguro mutter under his breath, lifting his sword inches from his face to block the attack.
Giyu can hardly believe he got so close.
He darts to the right, avoiding Sanemi and Tokito’s battle of clashing iron because apparently they’re all completely out of their minds for not opting for training swords tonight, and Giyu had been too preoccupied with the brewing fear in his chest to question it. Iguro’s eyes follow him, but one thing Giyu has on his side is speed. Speed and stamina, the only weapons he’s ever had, the only ones he can confidently call his own.
Strike again.
So he does, feeling a bit ridiculous as he leaps off the ground after gaining momentum. He’s sure Iguro has figured out his second form, but not from this angle. He has no blind spots if his theory about the snake proves true, however Giyu will keep him moving, catch him when he’s off his feet if he can. If Iguro’s movements can meander in ways that defy the ways of a sword, Giyu certainly can’t copy them, but he can take enough inspiration to use his moves against him.
To his left, Giyu strikes again, nearly clashing his iron sword with the ground, letting out a smooth exhale upon release. Iguro lifts his sword up near his shoulder, deflecting and pivoting his body, taking off to attack Giyu from behind, but Giyu’s eyes stay locked on him. Whatever form he unleashes, since he’s not one to announce them, Giyu swings his blade in a swift, horizontal movement to counter it.
“His movements are more fluid than I remember. You said you’ve been training with him, right Shinazugawa?” Giyu hears Tokito say behind him, attuned to every sound, every whisper. He can hear his heartbeat in his chest — steady, unwavering. He can hear Iguro’s footsteps approaching him, the way his foot skids across the dirt as he takes his position.
He’s not sure what it is that grounds him to this moment, whether it’s that thread between life and death and the genuine feeling that Iguro could kill him if he lets his guard down, or something more. But when he hears Sanemi huff under his breath and say, “Yeah, but he didn’t learn that from me,” it fsparks a light inside his chest he feared had gone out a long time ago.
Fourth Form: Striking Tide
He sees it now, an opening that Iguro has unconsciously left him, and if his weapon is his serpent-like movements and the vision that leaves no spot unguarded then Giyu will use that for himself. A certain dexterity that seems unnatural, like his body and sword move as one in ways that they shouldn’t, but maybe that’s exactly what Giyu needs to make this technique work. Giyu strikes once, then again, one after the other with a momentum that feels like flowing water that’s been set aflame. The inferno of his skin and the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his feet reach the ground, a sense of power he’s never felt in his life enveloping him as he steadies himself. Iguro tries to block, the edge of his haori tearing along the seam.
What Giyu doesn’t realize is the magnitude of his fourth form has reached those behind him — the skidding sound of feet dragging across the dirt before their bodies hit the ground. For a moment, the world around him goes dark, his vision cuts out before it returns to him, blurring his surroundings as he makes sure he’s still standing upright.
Fourth form, mastered.
He turns to meet Sanemi’s gaze, unsure if this battle is still going or if he’s ended it, but everything is moving in slow motion anyway. If Iguro were to strike, Giyu’s sure he’d see it coming, sensing the energy as it pummels toward him. Sanemi, leaning back with his eyes glued to Giyu, gapes speechless. For once, he says nothing.
Nothing but a look of terror on his face that he couldn’t mask even if he tried.
Giyu’s not sure he wants to know why.
“Tch,” he hears Iguro click his tongue, ripping his attention from Sanemi to the Serpent Pillar, thinking he might take the chance to attack. But he stands still, his breaths heavy, glaring at Giyu with a look of deceit. “Have you been keeping that from us all this time? Toying with me this whole fight?”
Giyu turns back to look at Sanemi, his lips pressed in a tight line to keep himself quiet. He’s not stepping in to help him this time. Could it be that he too thinks Giyu has kept this a secret? A technique he hadn’t mastered until now?
No, Sanemi should know better than to assume Giyu is even capable of doing so. Sanemi knows everything . He trusts him.
He trusts him.
But Iguro doesn’t.
Unless he does, in some cynical, contradicting way.
Shouldn’t comrades trust one another?
Giyu is a comrade.
He’s an equal.
He’s a Hashira.
He should get into the habit of thinking like one too. “Wouldn’t I be a fool for revealing all of my cards right away?” He asks, ignoring the jump in his chest as he challenges Iguro with his words. He wonders if they’re even believable or if everyone here can see through such a watered-down lie.
“I think you’re a fool regardless,” Iguro says, spite coating his words. “Don’t bother with my training, I’m passing you off to the next one.”
“What?”
“You’ve done what you’d need to do to pass anyway. And I don’t want to see you there.” Iguro turns away for a moment, but his eyes flicker back with a burning intensity. Giyu thinks he would perish if looks could kill. “Kanroji told me the two of you had a great time training, and it pisses me off. You should thank Shinazugawa for being your only saving grace.”
“Mine too,” Tokito says, brushing the dirt from his uniform. “If you complete the training in order, mine technically comes before Iguro’s, so I suppose you’d pass by default. But next time we spar, I want to go one on one with you.”
That sounds even worse.
“I deviated from the order of the training. Kanroji requested—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
Noted, so Giyu doesn’t. He waits for them to change their minds, but they don’t. The fight is over and they seem set on their decision, like it wasn’t very hard to make at all, like they came here knowing that would be the outcome. Like maybe the plan to spar would take place of their formal training, because above all, Giyu is a Hashira, even if they don’t know how many tears he’s shed to stand where he is now. How he pales in comparison, how he’s nothing worth the light that shines so brightly on the rest of them.
But they don’t know that, and they don’t see what Giyu sees. And maybe they don’t have to either.
Uzui.
Kanroji.
Iguro, and Tokito by default.
That leaves two more Hashira before the end, and it’s hardly believable that Giyu even started in the first place.
“You start Shinazugawa’s training tomorrow,” Iguro mutters. The words rip through his throat like they pain him to say. “Unless he chooses to pass you to Himejima based on what he’s seen tonight, but I’d bet on him keeping you.”
He half-expects to see a smile stretched across Sanemi’s lips, watching Giyu rise to the level he’s tried so hard to get him to reach. This is his doing, all of the training Sanemi has drilled into him over time, the effort he’s put into him and him only.
This is equally as much of his win as it is Giyu’s, but the glower on his face says otherwise, and the pride that swells in Giyu’s chest slowly drifts away.
“I think we should consider putting you on the front lines too,” Iguro says, taking one more glance at Giyu before he turns away to take his leave. Wounded pride or hatred for the Water Pillar, maybe a bit of both — Giyu can’t gauge it at all.
The front lines — Giyu’s not sure he knows what he means by that either.
••••
It’s silent on the way down the mountain, nothing drifting through the air but the sounds of their footsteps and rustling leaves drifting in the breeze.
Sanemi doesn’t say anything on the path to his estate.
He says nothing as he opens his front door for Giyu, watching him as he steps into his home, lingering for a moment before he follows.
He stays quiet as he runs a bath, letting nothing but a small sigh of what Giyu would like to think is relief slip from his lips as he sinks in next to him.
Giyu has never heard Sanemi so silent aside from when he’s peacefully asleep, and even that doesn’t typically last so long. He’s sat in comfortable silence with him before — back then, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. When he and Sanemi were still in school and they’d spend their afternoons lodged in a corner of the library, tucked away and entranced in downloaded PDFs of textbooks they couldn’t afford and sloppy word documents, notes they could hardly read and nothing but overpriced energy drinks from the downstairs vending machine to keep them going. Back then, it was normal — comforting, even. To have someone there, even if no words were exchanged and nothing was said. Just to have him there. The simplicity of silence with someone you love, but this time, it doesn’t seem so simple.
In this lifetime, Giyu’s learned not to fear Sanemi. That he would never hurt him, even if at first that wasn’t the case. He knows, even in the silence that Giyu can’t pinpoint the reason for, that there’s no cause for alarm, and that Giyu’s done nothing wrong, but he still can’t help but feel like he has.
Sanemi is silent as they step out of the bath, as he dries off.
He’s silent as they put their clothes on — loose, nighttime yukatas that Sanemi likes to strip off Giyu’s shoulders to sink his teeth into his skin.
Silent as the moon rises higher into the midnight sky.
Silent as the two slowly trudge to bed.
“Sanemi,” Giyu says, his voice meek like he’s ready to crumble under the weight of crushing stillness.
He pauses, a step ahead, but doesn’t look back. “Yeah, Giyu?”
His voice is tinged with something heavier than his anger, but it lacks aggression. It stops Giyu in his tracks, and the worst comes to mind.
It sounds like defeat, it sounds like sorrow. Like Sanemi is about to flip the world upside down and let it shatter beneath his feet. Giyu takes a step back, like if he creates distance then the words won’t reach him.
The silence, his gaze that won’t meet him, the distant response like part of him has lost him.
“I’m sorry,” Giyu’s voice cracks. Sorry for anything , sorry for everything, even if he’s not sure what.
They were perfect until Giyu lost him, until Sanemi lost him. And finally, it seems like they’ve found another version of almost perfect — the best they could form given the life they live.
But maybe that isn’t the case.
Sanemi turns to see the tear drip down Giyu’s cheek, a stray one he couldn’t hold back. The same expression he wore as he stared from below back at the training grounds returns to his face — horror. “Giyu… Giyu, no. What are you sorry for?”
“Did I do something?” He asks. Sanemi cups his cheeks, his eyes darting across every inch of Giyu’s face. He runs a thumb across his cheek, wiping away any drying trace of tears that stain his skin. Sanemi’s pulse can be felt through his skin, increasingly violent, almost frantic. “Are you mad that I went tonight?”
“What? No! Giyu, no. Damn it, did I make it seem that way?” One hand slides to Giyu’s arm, gripping with enough strength to keep Giyu in place. “You didn’t do anything. No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You’re not upset with me?”
“No! I couldn’t be,” Sanemi says, raking his fingers through Giyu’s hair. It’s comforting, but not enough. It’s not enough for Sanemi to just not be upset with him, not when Giyu’s expected him to share his pride.
“I wasn’t hiding that last technique,” he says, hoping Sanemi will believe him. He has to, Sanemi knows him well enough. But he’s been so distantly silent since they left the training grounds, Giyu isn’t sure if the faith Sanemi has in him stretches that far. “I know Iguro made it seem like I was, but up until tonight I hadn’t mastered my fourth form yet. I’ve been trying.”
“I know you have,” Sanemi tells him. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Fuck, I’m sorry.”
It’s genuine — Giyu can tell by the strain in his voice, the wash of panic in his eyes. But there’s still something in the air, even if Giyu misread this. Still something gnawing at Sanemi, shutting his words inside him, keeping his thoughts to himself. Keeping them from Giyu.
“After we sparred and Iguro said I passed his training, you didn’t seem happy at all,” Giyu says, his eyes back to normal, his voice steady. “I thought you would’ve been.”
“I am.”
“No you’re not.”
“Part of me is.”
“And the other part?”
Sanemi releases a deep sigh, resting his head on Giyu’s shoulder. His hand, once on his cheek, reaches around Giyu’s waist. Silence, once again.
“Sanemi.”
His arm tightens around him, and Giyu’s takes another step back to lean against the wall and support him. Sanemi nearly slumps against him like dead weight. “Don’t worry about it, Giyu.” He sighs again, his heart thrashing against his chest. “But I know that’s useless, because you’ll still worry about it.”
“You know me so well.”
A low groan comes from his throat, like the words are stuck and too painful to spit out but Sanemi trudges through it anyway — even if they cut on the way up. “I am proud, so proud of you,” he says, gripping the fabric of Giyu’s yukata like a lifeline. “I just don’t want to think about you fighting like that when the time comes, that’s all.”
“But wasn’t that the goal this whole time? To make sure I’m strong enough for that?” Giyu asks, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yeah, it was,” Sanemi says, still pressed to his shoulder.
It was. Things change, and Giyu is living proof of that.
“Sorry if I worried you.” Sanemi rubs small circles against Giyu’s back, so delicate, so comforting. His breath tickles the skin on Giyu’s neck — warmth in the bitter cold. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Giyu runs his fingers through Sanemi’s hair, still damp from the bath, waves cascading across his knuckles. It dries fairly straight, even if unruly, but there’s an innocent charm to it when his hair is down, something so pretty.
“You don’t want me fighting at all, do you?” Giyu asks him, tilting his chin to face him. Sanemi’s eyes answer for him before his words can. “Why not?”
He turns away, burying his face back into Giyu’s shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist like Giyu might slip away if Sanemi were to let go. Silence blankets the room again. Silence that speaks all of the words that Sanemi can’t get himself to say, silence that kills Giyu as he waits to hear them.
“Iguro said something about me fighting at the front lines—”
“Forget what Iguro said,” Sanemi says abruptly, a tinge of venom in his words, but Giyu can tell it’s not meant for him. He pauses for a moment, huffing out a deep breath. “Just… don’t worry about what he said. Iguro’s hard to deal with when you’re not on his good side.”
“Okay,” Giyu says, appeased, if only for now. He tangles his fingers in Sanemi’s hair, trailing them gently down his neck, and down his spine until he shivers. “Are you alright, Sanemi?”
“God, don’t make me say it, Giyu.” Sanemi only breathes out a small chuckle, so soft Giyu might have missed it if he weren’t so focused on the sound of his voice. “Yeah, I’m alright. Don’t worry about me.”
Sanemi loosens his grip, meeting Giyu’s eyes once more before leaning in slowly — one kiss to assure him everything is okay. Then another like it might be their last. Giyu’s not sure why exactly Sanemi holds him the way he does, why he spends an extra moment with his lips pressed so firmly against his own, but if Giyu could breathe him in forever, mesh his lips with Sanemi’s until they are raw and bleeding and broken, he’d be more than okay with it. It’s only after losing him that Giyu realized just how deeply intertwined their souls are — something that transcends lifetimes. At some point, his heart and soul became one, and Sanemi has made a home for himself there.
Half of it has always been his.
Giyu’s hand finds the folds of Sanemi’s yukata, tugging until it slips from his skin, running his hands over the warmth of his chest, along the muscles that form over his back. He traces the scars he has memorized and etched into his thoughts, the dips of his skin and the spots where Sanemi shudders at the touch. Comfort in the warmth of his skin, home in the feeling of his touch.
“Come to bed,” Giyu says, kissing his shoulder.
“Training starts early tomorrow morning,” Sanemi says, tugging at Giyu’s clothes lightly. He does a poor job concealing how much he wants him, and that’s typical.
“You’re not passing me on to Himejima?”
Sanemi strips the yukata off Giyu’s body, letting it fall to his ankles, where it looks best. “I should,” he says, pulling Giyu closer to him and backing their way toward the futon that witnesses more sex than it does sleep some nights. “But I don’t want to. Let me be selfish and enjoy the excuse to keep you here with me.”
“How irresponsible ,” Giyu teases, following Sanemi’s lead.
“Maybe,” Sanemi says. He presses kisses down his neck, then back up again. They’re warm, slow, everything but eager. He takes his time, savoring Giyu like he doesn’t have much of him left. When Giyu tries to touch him, Sanemi catches his hand and interlocks their fingers, rubbing a thumb against his skin. “But I love you, so stay with me for a couple of extra days until I have to let you go.”
Sanemi lowers himself to the futon, pulling Giyu into his lap, looking at him with eyes that seem as if they see everything they want right in front of him. Giyu imagines his eyes must hold the same look because it’s true — in this life, where everything seems to be ripped away, everything he wants is right here.
And the words he’s longed to hear almost sound too good to be true.
“Say that again,” Giyu whispers, settling into his lap and pressing a slow kiss to Sanemi’s mouth. He traces his scars with the pads of his fingers, running them across his cheek.
“I love you,” Sanemi murmurs into his kiss. “So stay.”
“Again,” Giyu says, wishing he could rewind time just to hear it for the first time again. “Say my name.”
“I love you, Giyu.” The words replay and replay and replay, etching themselves into Giyu’s memory. Words that have felt lost in threads across the universe, in another lifetime and left where he can’t reach, ones he wished he could hear one last time before he wound up here. “Stay with me.”
“Again.”
And again.
And again.
*~🍃~*
Giyu is a dream, whereas everything else is hell at best.
Sanemi’s at fault for most of that, though he’s not sure what else he’s supposed to do to get the other slayers trained. He’s nearly at his wits end… again, but he supposes he can’t spend too much time complaining. The lower-ranked slayers are as god-awful as always, with the addition of the blonde kid who’s rumored to have joined Rengoku and Uzui on their last missions and proved himself to be somewhat of an asset, but Sanemi can’t see it at all. He almost loses every ounce of self-composure once he sees Kamado Tanjiro has advanced to this stage, his eye twitching in irritation as he boastfully states his lack of respect for the Wind Pillar before he walks off. Some nerve he has — the kid has balls, and Sanemi hates it.
But even Kamado can’t ruin Sanemi’s day as much as he normally would, not when Sanemi can say fuck all the rest of them and turn his attention to Giyu. It’s a little funny — Giyu is so stoic around people he doesn’t know, the glaze of unfamiliarity that glosses over his eyes is easily mistaken as a threatening stare that pierces through the other slayers. Sanemi likes to see them squirm, so he says nothing about it, smirking as he turns around and lets Giyu unknowingly do the work for him.
They spar in front of the others, and Sanemi tells them this should be the level they strive for, taking a route away from intimidation and stepping towards idealism. He knows they’ll never reach this level, that they have more of a chance of dying before they ever can, but of everyone, he supposes he and Giyu know best that it’s not impossible.
Between sessions, and giving the slayers more breaks than he usually permits, he follows Giyu inside, even when Giyu worries that someone might see. “I’ll kill them if they say anything,” Sanemi tells him, kissing his neck and kneading his hands into Giyu’s sore muscles. “They’re all at the back of the estate, anyway. They shouldn’t be in the main house unless they’re morons.”
A day passes and aside from Giyu, the only slayer who shows any promise is Kamado, even if it physically pains Sanemi to admit it. He can be an asset against an upper moon, just like he regrettably has been before.
For a moment, he considers swallowing every drop of his pride and coughing up an offer to fight side by side. A selfish offer, one he comes to the decision to not bother asking. Sanemi couldn’t really care less whether Kamado lives or dies, but he sees the value in his swordsmanship, regardless of if it’s talent or soul-crushing work. Kamado would be a strong ally, someone who’s come face-to-face with Kibutsuji Muzan and lived, and he’d also be disposable and not much of a loss if he were to fall in battle… to him at least.
But Giyu seems to love the kid, so he’ll forget about it.
Truthfully, even if Sanemi is tired of people dying, he knows casualties come at the expense of war. And whenever Kibutsuji makes his first move, he won’t get to pick and choose who makes it through to the end. It’s selfish, and shitty, and Sanemi has never claimed to be a good person — although he’d like to be — but that’s partly why he pushes the regular slayers to the extent that he does. As they stand, they’ll never be an asset in war, but if he can push them towards improvement and give them a fighting chance, if they die then at least it wasn’t for nothing.
At least it was no one he can say he’s ever loved.
If Giyu lives,
If Genya lives,
If Iguro lives,
And through gritted teeth, he supposes if Kanroji lives too,
The sacrifice would be worth it.
Another day passes and the thought has almost completely left his head, focusing on the slayers around him and their incredibly weak attacks. “Is this all you’ve got?” Sanemi snarls, slashing a wooden sword with enough force, the others duck and cover in response.
“You’re too hard on them,” Giyu whispers in passing through the halls. A gentle touch to Sanemi’s arm remains for a second too long, but again, Sanemi doesn’t care if anyone sees through his windows. They’d be stupid to say anything at all.
“Yeah? You have any suggestions?” Sanemi asks, a smirk stretching across half of his lips.
He thinks for a moment and sighs, grinning to himself. “No, I’ll admit I kind of like that you reserve a different side of you just for me. I don’t want to share that with them.”
A devious smile rips across Sanemi’s lips, all teeth and stretched so wide it hurts his cheeks. “Good,” he says, smacking Giyu’s lower back and conveniently aiming too low.
“Idiot, what if someone saw that?”
“Then I’ll kill them, remember? And no one else should be in here.”
Giyu rolls his eyes, but Sanemi can still see the hint of a smile as everything he loves walks away. He would keep him here for the remainder of the training if he could, but after today, he knows it’s in his best interest to pass him off to Himejima and let Giyu finish. God knows how long it will take him there, as Himejima’s training is so brutal, most people give up and leave even after making it that far.
If only he didn’t have to do this at all, if only Giyu didn’t have to fight. But after seeing him face off with Iguro, and how angry Iguro was after getting his ass kicked when he rightfully expected it to be the other way around, Sanemi knows there’s no way around it. Giyu has to fight, he has to join the battle when it comes and Giyu won’t take no for an answer anymore, but Sanemi will take the brunt of it.
He loves him enough to not let his hard work go to waste, but too much to let him fight directly alongside him.
“Ani— Sanemi, wait,” he hears a voice behind him.
He’d know the voice anywhere, even with age as it’s grown deeper.
There is no childlike softness to it anymore, no high pitched whine that trails at the end of his name.
It sounds like someone he doesn’t know anymore, but someone he knows best in this world.
His blood runs cold, taking a final step before he stops.
He shouldn’t be here. Genya should be as far away from here as he can be. Hell, even if he had chosen to stay in the corps after all this time, how is it possible he’s gotten this far in the training? With his lungs, the breathing techniques that he can’t use according to Himejima and Kocho, he shouldn’t have advanced any further than Uzui’s training — maybe Kanroji’s if Uzui had pitied him enough to pass him.
Then again, Kanroji is a sucker for a cute face and he’s sure Genya is absolutely darling to her, especially since the two of them fought together in that village.
Shit , that must be why she passed him.
Surely Tokito wouldn’t have shown any mercy, but the two of them also fought together and maybe the kid is stupid enough to have made a friend.
Iguro? Iguro should have told him — he should have fucking said something. God fucking damn it, why the hell didn’t Iguro say anything when Genya got to his phase of the training, when he passed him off to Sanemi, at any point at all. Fucking snake , Sanemi can feel the blood rising to his head, heat flaring and red clouding his vision.
He can hear Giyu in the back of his thoughts telling him Genya’s still trying to make Sanemi proud, and Sanemi knows he’s right. He knows he should turn around and face his brother, tell him he’s sorry for shutting him out for all these years, plead with him to run away from this place and tell him he’ll find him once this is all over.
Fix things, stop depriving himself of love, allow what’s left of his family to be happy in the aftermath.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you.”