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We literally ran into each other
Giyuu bumps into something hard as he heads for the western exit of Oyakata-sama's estate. It’s solid enough to be a wall, but the collision is cushioned by fabric and the “wall” emits a familiar warmth so that when Giyuu looks up, part of him is only mildly surprised to see Shinazugawa’s face glaring back down at him.
The rest of his brain does a semi-decent impression of a deer who's caught sight of a hunter, and Giyuu forces down the slow, steady panic rising up out of his stomach and to the back of his throat. He hasn’t seen Shinazugawa since…
Since he found the other red-faced and sweating and about to die in a training ground.
Giyuu shakes his head, tries to meet Shinazugawa’s eyes without letting him onto the impure thoughts clouding his mind.
“Shinazugawa,” he says belatedly. “Sorry.”
“Tomioka,” Shinazugawa returns, tone unreadable. He’s not much taller than Giyuu, but like this, basically pressed up against Shinazugawa’s chest, the slight difference means that Giyuu can feel the crick in his neck as he looks up. He hurriedly steps back, eyes darting back down.
Wrong move; the position puts him at the perfect vantage to see sculpted pectorals and the hard lines of Shinazugawa’s abdomen, the memory of pressing his hands against the scarred skin and feeling the muscles ripple underneath his palm dragging a wave of red up Giyuu’s neck. He looks back up, meets Shinazugawa’s narrowed eyes. They’re as unreadable as his voice, and Giyuu can only blame sheer panic for his next move; he places his hand against Shinazugawa’s exposed sternum, and pats.
Tomioka Giyuu, what did you just do.
He moves to yank his stray hand back but Shinazugawa is a beat faster, hand shooting forward to tighten around Giyuu’s forearm. A stilted silence falls as Shinazugawa stares, brows furrowed, at his fingers encircling Giyuu’s wrist – his thumb and forefinger touch each other with a bit more left over – and as Giyuu tries to look anywhere but there, burying all physical signs of his embarrassment through sheer will.
The sound of footsteps approaching the gat makes them jump apart. A Kakushi turns the corner, takes one look at the two Pillars, and bows repeatedly before backing away.
Giyuu coughs lightly when they’re left alone again, forces himself to meet Shinazugawa’s eyes. “See you next time,” he says, voice steady. He gets no answer, and Giyuu walks through the exit, grip tightening on his blade as his heart sinks.
“…See you, Tomioka.”
He stills. Nods, and doesn’t look back.
It’s only when his kasugaigarasu asks him why his face looks so weird that Giyuu stops trying to suppress his smile.
“You saved my life.”
“What do you want?”
Tomioka blinks at him slowly. Sanemi grits his teeth.
"You saved my life, I owe you."
"When did I save your life?" He cocks his head, and his eyes are so utterly clueless that Sanemi can barely muster up the energy to get mad.
He does anyway, out of spite. "I owe you," he emphasises, steps forward. Tomioka doesn't step back, and Sanemi stares down at him. "Just accept the favour and tell me what you want in return."
"…Can I decide later?"
"No, you can't fucking decide later." It's not like his life is worth just one measly favour, Tomioka doesn't have to guard his debts like one guards a fox's favours.
Tomioka's brows furrow, and lips pressing together.
Without the burning of the Demon Blood Art through his veins, he has enough self-control to stop the errant thought of that's kind of cute before it can grow into anything. But that doesn't erase the fact that there was still a thought he had to suppress, and Sanemi curses himself.
You sleep with a pretty boy once and now you can't stop thinking about him.
Sanemi refrains from tapping his foot as he waits. Tomioka doesn't seem to realise his benevolence, because he takes what seems like years before he finally answers – "Salmon daikon."
"Salmon daikon? You want me to buy it for you?" The salary of a Pillars was insane to the point where Sanemi was certain that Oyakata-sama was involved with some of shady business he didn't disclose to them to be able to get the money. He could afford any ridiculously expensive cut of Hokkaido salmon Tomioka's little heart desired.
But the Water Pillar shakes his head. "Come eat with me."
"…That's it?" Sanemi says incredulously.
"Yeah." Tomioka nods. And then, tiny but inarguably there, tugging lightly at his cheeks, he smiles. Sanemi has to blink away the spots of white in his vision. "Eat with me, and you won't owe me anything."
That's not how life debts work, Sanemi wants to say in response. He can't pay back Tomioka saving his life at the cost of himself by eating together.
As it is, all he manages is a croaked out, "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
There’s only one bed and we sleep as far away as possible from each other but wake up cuddling
His pillow is harder than usual. And also hot, like a running furnace, but it smells so good that Giyuu can’t help but bury his face in closer, tucking himself into the sweet, familiar scent.
“…What the fuck…?”
His pillow can also talk, it seems. With a rough, sleep-cracked voice that makes Giyuu’s ears itch.
…Wait.
Giyuu’s eyes fly open, and he stares, uncomprehending, at the sight of scarred skin in front of him, so close that his nose brushes against a smooth expanse of it, precariously close to a dusty nipple.
He’s too close to look up and comfortably meet the stare boring into the top of his head. He’s not sure if he wants to, already dead certain who he’s going to find glaring down at him.
But he moves back anyway with all the dread of a solider going off to war, shifting himself along the arm cushioned underneath his head, where he had tucked himself just under the shoulder.
Or at least, he tries to. A pressure against his back stops him from going further, and Giyuu’s eyes flicker down. So do Shinazugawa’s, and they both stare, one betrayed and one shocked, at the arm slung over Giyuu’s torso. He can’t see it, but Shinazugawa’s hand and forearm must be the continuous line pressed tight up the curve of his back, the five pinpoints of heat between his shoulder blades.
…What did he do to deserve this kind of punishment?
“Tomioka,” Shinazugawa finally says. His voice is unreadable. “Get off my arm.”
Giyuu frowns. “I can’t,” he says. “Get your arm off me first.”
Shinazugawa tenses – he can feel it run along the length of the limb under his head, stiffen against his back – before jerking away from Giyuu like he’s on fire, yanking his arm out under his head and near plastering himself against the wall. Giyuu pushes himself upright at a much more languid pace, careful not to fall off the edge of the bed.
It’s small, too small to fit two fully grown men. The night before, they had hovered as far away from each other as possible – Shinazugawa was hardly ever inclined to cuddle even after they had sex, let alone during a job, and Giyuu wasn’t complaining. He turns away, hopes the flush isn't as obvious as it feels.
He’d never sleep with Shinazugawa in the same bed like this if he could help it. He had even planned to sleep on the floor when the receptionist had apologetically explained that they only had one room left, it was the holidays, you see, and more people were spending time in the city with family, but Shinazugawa had dragged him onto the bed after Giyuu had changed into the hotel provided yukata before he could even speak the idea into existence.
At first he thought that maybe Shinazugawa got into the mood, but Shinazugawa does little else but pull the blanket over himself, leaving some room for Giyuu.
"We need to sleep," the other had said in explanation, and that was that until they woke up practically entangled together, and Giyuu subsequently void of the ability to look in Shinazugawa's general direction.
This is why he didn't want to. He's barely managed to compartmentalise the various emotions that come with sleeping together. Giyuu doesn't need the various emotions that come from actually sleeping together to mess it all up.
It seems that the gods don't want to give him a choice in the matter.
…On the bright side, at least Shinazugawa seems equally embarrassed.
Your uniform was in the laundry pile and I couldn’t help but steal it
It wasn’t often that Shinazugawa came to the Water Pillar Estate, though Giyuu hardly ever returned to it either, preferring the open road and its ryokans over the cloying stuffiness of the old building.
But Shinazugawa had been in town, and Giyuu in the next town over, and by now their kasugaigarasu knew to inform their slayers if they caught sight of each other. And the estate was right there, free to use and far less incriminating than walking into the same hotel at the same time and only booking one room.
Shinazugawa sniffs, seeing the state of the place. “You don’t know how to clean or something?”
“I know how to clean, I just don’t come back here often,” Giyuu says, defensive. “There’s over ten guest rooms.”
“The fuck do you need that many rooms for?” Shinazugawa says with disgust, but Giyuu’s gotten a bit better at reading the tones of his voice, lets his pride grow a bit at the tinge of humour he catches.
“Ask Suigetsu-sama,” Giyuu returns as he leads Shinazugawa to his room, identifiable by the lack of dust lining its doorframe.
"'Suigetsu'?" Shinazugawa says, questioning, and Giyuu tells him about the Water Pillar before Urokodaki-san, who liked to live as lavishly as he could, never expecting to make it past thirty. He was right, dying at twenty-four, and as a result his short lifestyle left behind far too many properties for the future Water Pillars to upkeep.
But they’re not here to give Shinazugawa a history lesson – as much as he seems to be content listening. Giyuu cuts himself off halfway through detailing the beach house Suigetsu-sama had built near Miyazaki, presses a kiss to Shinazugawa’s slightly parted mouth and swallows his sound of surprise.
He likes to think he’s gotten better since the first time, with barely a lick of experience under his belt. At least, Shinazugawa doesn’t seem to have any complaints, pulling Giyuu closer and one hand burying itself into his hair. He lets Shinazugawa tug, angling Giyuu’s head the way he liked, bites down the shivery shock it sends down his spine.
“We should change,” Shinazugawa grits out, once they’ve relocated, stumbling to the futon. They hadn’t separated since, lips only breaking apart to catch their breaths before surging back in. Giyuu shudders at the sensation of the words murmured against his mouth before his brain can catch up with what they mean.
Shinazugawa was right; they were still in their uniforms. Giyuu should pull away, go find a set of guests’ clothes Shinazugawa could change into so that his uniform would still be clean the next morning, so he'd be able to leave as soon as dawn breaks.
He ignores the voice in his head that wants otherwise with the ease of too many years of experience, surging forward into another kiss.
Or what would have been another kiss if Shinazugawa didn’t lean back, eyes running over Giyuu’s face with a silent request. Giyuu stays obediently still, fighting the urge to fidget until Shinazugawa finally moves forward, lips, far more chaste than Giyuu had been intending, touching lightly against his own.
He trails lower and lower, peppered kisses growing open-mouth and wet and dirty with each inch down, and bites into the curve of Giyuu's throat, smiles into the mark.
Giyuu manages to hold onto his dignity well enough, he likes to think, until Shinazugawa stops, hovering over the curve of his clavicle. His breath ghosts over Giyuu’s skin, cools the saliva there and a restless whine echoes through the room, Giyuu’s hand shooting up to slap over his mouth when he realises that its coming from him.
Shinazugawa tugs them away from his face ruthlessly, eyes bright at the sound. “Well?”
What do you mean, “well?”, Giyuu wants to say. Don’t you want to leave early?
"It’s fine," Giyuu pleads instead, gripping at Shinazugawa’s shoulders deathly tight. “I’ll wash them later, so…” Continue. Stay.
He gathers the discarded uniforms quietly in the morning, looking over his shoulder to check that he hadn’t woken the other man up. Not everything had been dirtied enough to warrant a wash – Giyuu almost tore the white haori off of Shinazugawa's body in his haste – but something makes Giyuu grab all of Shinazugawa’s clothes anyway.
He lets himself look back once, admire the shadows playing in the dip of Shinazugawa’s collarbones and the relaxed skin between his brows that only ever appeared when he was asleep.
There had been a period of time, before, whenever Giyuu had been able to wake up earlier than Shinazugawa without accidentally rousing him, where the furrows would be so deep that they seemed like they were etched into his skin, though he hardly ever saw them now.
Giyuu walks to the laundering room before he can let himself overthink why. He brings the clothes in his arms closer, stifling a shiver at the morning chill. A stiff collar brushes against the bottom of his nose, and Giyuu sneezes, but not before he catches the faint scent.
Musky, with a hint of sweat and the wisteria all demon slayers were prone to carrying around in a pouch – an old charm to protect against, if not ward off the creatures they were hunting – and something distinctly Shinazugawa.
Burying his face into the white haori, Giyuu inhales, shoulders loosening. Shinazugawa always smells slightly sweet, and Giyuu wonders if it was because he was a marechi, if Shinazugawa was a hundred times sweeter for a demon. He’s never directly talked about it, but Giyuu’s fought with him a few times, seen the way demons almost swoon when, though rarely, Shinazugawa gets cut.
He kind of gets it – whenever he’s with Shinazugawa, whenever they’re alone and under the cover of night and Giyuu is allowed to bury his face in the crook of his neck, the scent drives his mind blank, makes him want to stay there forever.
He will never tell Shinazugawa that, though.
Giyuu sobers, pulls the haori away from his face as his brain slowly, steadily processes what he just did. Biting back a groan, he almost buries his face back in his hands, if not for the offending haori still in his grasp.
How could he do something like that? It was completely disrespectful, completely invasive – and just because Giyuu fell into this hopeless crush doesn’t mean he can abandon the last bits of his self-respect like some love-blinded fool. Doing something like this when Shinazugawa didn’t even like him…
If he scrubs at the clothes far harder than necessary when he's washing them, until his fingers are pruned and the fabric close to threadbare… the only one there to reprimand him is still soundly asleep.
“You’ve got something on your lip, here let me.”
Shinazugawa makes a noise in disgust when Giyuu polishes off his bowl of rice. “Do you always eat like that?”
“Eat like what?” Giyuu asks.
“Like a fucking savage,” Shinazugawa answers, pointing his chopsticks so close to Giyuu’s face he has to go cross-eyed to see the tips. They pull back the next moment as Shinazugawa uses them to pick up his last bite.
Giyuu thinks he eats in a perfectly civilised manner, but when compared to Shinazugawa, he can kind of see what the other means. The Wind Pillar holds his bowl low in his hand, not even bringing it closer to his face in order to scrape the grains of rice stuck on the sides into his mouth, chopsticks moving at a sedate pace completely unlike Giyuu’s rapid up-down to shovel as much salmon into his mouth as possible.
There’s a clink of ceramic against polished wood, and Giyuu looks up from Shinazugawa’s grip on his bowl to his face.
“Finished?”
Shinazugawa gives an affirmative grunt, placing his chopsticks over the bowl. He meets Giyuu’s eyes before his gaze flickers down. Another disgusted noise slips out of his mouth, and Giyuu stifles a smile.
“Oi, wipe your fucking mouth. No, not there–– left, no, it’s not on your fucking cheek––” He breathes heavily through his nose when Giyuu misses again. “You. Aren’t you older than me? Why do you eat like a fucking baby?”
“Only by ten months,” Giyuu defends. “And I don’t eat like a baby.”
Shinazugawa levels him a flat look. It’s a million times less scathing than anything he would have sent Giyuu ten months ago, but cutting nonetheless. “You’ve obviously never been near one.”
“And you have?” Giyuu mutters.
He’s been near babies before – blocking his ears in the folds of Tsutako-neesan’s skirt when the town baker held out a screaming bundle of cloth for her to inspect, and that one time he even held one before it could get eaten by a demon.
Granted, it was by the infant’s leg and for a culminative three minutes before he placed it in its bewildered parents’ arms, but he’s been near one.
“I was the oldest brother of seven,” Shinazugawa says, dry, and Giyuu startles, hand jerking against his empty bowl. Shinazugawa continues on smoothly, like this isn’t the first time he’s willingly offered up information of himself, “I’ve seen more kids being born than you’ve seen kids in general.”
They fall silent when Giyuu doesn’t reply. By virtue of a sudden burst of pettiness, Giyuu doesn’t resume wiping at his face for the stray piece of food either, and when Shinazugawa looks at him after draining his cup of tea and sees the offending grain of rice still stuck there, he glares.
“…Come here.”
Giyuu obeys as slowly as he can, mulish. Shinazugawa clicks his tongue, and once Giyuu comes into range, grabs Giyuu’s chin. His hand are surprisingly gentle, fingers firm and calloused against Giyuu’s cheeks as Shinazugawa turns his head towards himself, and Giyuu stills, feels his heart lodge in his throat and doesn't know why.
“Can’t be helped,” Shinazugawa mutters, free hand lifting up and thumb pressing against the plush of Giyuu’s lips. Giyuu doesn’t dare blink as tufts of white tickles his forehead, staring wide-eyed at Shinazugawa’s face folded in concentration.
Shinazugawa rubs aggressively, and pulls back, a small grain as white as his hair stuck to the pad of his thumb. “It was on your lip,” he says, as if Giyuu needed clarification. Giyuu nods anyway.
They leave the store a few minutes later, unheeding of the eyes of the other patrons and the chef trained disbelievingly on their backs.
Playing with their hair while their head’s in your lap
Sanemi stills when a cautious hand presses against the crown of his head. The hand waits, and when Sanemi doesn’t move to bat it away, eyes still stubbornly shut and arms crossed over his chest, it moves, fingers rubbing at his skull in gentle circles.
What the fuck is Tomioka doing.
The hand shifts to tug at strands of his hair, and Sanemi cracks open a single eye to stare up at the other. Tomioka doesn’t even notice, eyes trained on Sanemi’s hair as he plays with it, other hand still holding his book.
He’s not even sure how they got into this position, Sanemi using Tomioka’s thighs as a pillow as he slept. He remembered being woken by Tomioka’s movements, at rolling away, half asleep when the other told him to wake up, and somehow being manoeuvred off the futon so that Tomioka could fold it up and clean the room. There was a gap in his memory after that, likely because he fell asleep again, before he woke up and his head was in Tomioka’s lap.
Sanemi had debated whether or not he should get angry, but Tomioka was warm and his legs were comfortable and the turning of the pages was lulling, paired with the warmth of the noon sun.
It wasn’t often that they both remained in the ryokan this late into the day either, and Sanemi didn’t want to read into the voice in his head urging himself to savour this.
Whatever this is.
He blinks his eyes open. Tomioka's hand moves absently now, sometimes scratching, sometimes winding bits of Sanemi’s hair around his fingers as the other steadies his book. His own hair is tied back as it usually is when he’s in public, and a prickle of irritation stabs at Sanemi’s sternum.
“Tomioka,” he says, voice scratchy from sleep. Tomioka glances at him. He makes a grabby motion at Tomioka’s hair, and blue eyes go flat, before returning to his book.
Sanemi frowns. “Tomioka,” he says again, repeats it until Tomioka indulges him, placing his book page down onto the floor. “Your hair,” Sanemi says meaningfully.
Blue eyes stare at him, blank, before a hand hesitantly reaches up. Sanemi nods as it gets closer to the ribbon, shaking when it moves further away, and finally Tomioka gets it, pulling the ribbon loose.
Sanemi lets himself feel smug for all of a minute until he realised that Tomioka’s stopped moving both the hand in Sanemi’s hair and the hand in his own. He crooks his fingers, a universal gesture to come closer, and Tomioka obeys without a question, though until now Sanemi still doesn’t quite understand why.
He’s not complaining though, not when inky black tumbles over Tomioka’s shoulders in waves, spilling around Sanemi’s face and into Tomioka’s lap as he leans forward. He wraps his hand in it, and stares up at Tomioka, shadowed from sun by the curtain of hair around them.
The strands shift as Tomioka sits upright again, but enough of it has fallen over Tomioka’s chest for Sanemi to be able to run his fingers through it, holding it up to the light and watching it shine a deep black.
They shine like that under moonlight as well.
Instinctively, Sanemi tightens his hold on the locks sliding through his fingers, and brings it to his lips. They're cool to the touch, and smell of the wisteria outside.
He doesn’t even notice that his eyes had slipped shut until they jolt open when his head hits the tatami with a thud, much harder than the legs acting as his makeshift pillow that had yanked themselves out underneath him.
“What the fuck, Tomioka?” Sanemi grumbles as he pulls himself upright.
Tomioka doesn’t answer, back facing him from across the room as he shrugs out of the yukata and into his uniform. He looks over his shoulder at Sanemi as he pulls on his haori, glances away when he sees Sanemi looking straight back at him.
Sanemi blinks. The red ears are still there.
“I’m leaving,” Tomioka says, and the shoji slam shut before Sanemi even has time to realise what had happened.
Both going to grab the same thing and touching hands, then making eye contact
"Pass the sake, please," Kochou says, smiling.
Iguro nudges Tokitou, who, if Sanemi didn't know better, he would've sworn the kid was already drunk by the way he slowly blinked before grabbing the bottle next to him. He reaches over to pass it to Sanemi, who then passes it to Kochou across the table, who murmurs her thanks before pouring herself a drink, passing it to Kanroji once she's done.
They didn't get together like this often, all nine of them, but the meeting had gone into the evening and none of them had lunch and Kanroji asked if they wanted to get dinner together at the sushi bar in town. None of them admitted it, but they were all wrapped around Kanroji's little finger. Trying to reject her was like deliberately stepping on a puppy trying to play with you. Sanemi wasn't a heartless bastard.
So they all managed to crowd around the biggest table the sushi bar had in order to comfortably house Himejima, and by the time Sanemi thinks to check the time, the sun's long set.
It's nice. How long has it been since he's been able to properly eat dinner with a group of people? The last time he can think of was with Oyakata-sama and Amane-sama, and they barely counted considering they were his employers. Before that? Maybe Masachika, when the other's pay check came in and he'd puff up in excitement, dragging Sanemi and a few of the former Wind Pillar's other Tsuguko out to a new restaurant with cheerful reassurances that he'd be able to pay.
They had gone to a small sushi store, the last time, and it was so cheap that everyone had gorged themselves on ten plates of it each. He'd gotten food poisoning after that, and sworn never to eat with Masachika again.
Sanemi stops his train of thought there, relaxes the tense line of his shoulders with a quiet sigh. Eyeing the last piece of salmon nigiri, he reaches out for it.
Another hand reaches out as well, thin fingers closing over the tops of his. His gaze flickers up at Tomioka, who stares back silently.
Neither of them pull away and the conversation at the table dies out as the other Pillars turning to watch, some in slow-building horror, and some in anticipation.
Sanemi cocks his head when Tomioka doesn't back down, surprised at himself for being unsurprised. This guy loved salmon, didn't he? Whenever they went out to eat, he'd always order the same thing. At first, Sanemi found it strange and a little ridiculous, but now all he manages to muster up is unwilling fondness.
Tomioka's eyes narrow at him, challenging.
Fine.
Sanemi pulls back with a shrug, biting back a grin at the smugly satisfied expression that flashes over the other's face when he pops the nigiri into his mouth.
"…Shinazugawa?"
Sanemi glances at Iguro. "Yeah, what's up?"
"You…" Iguro pauses. Kaburamaru pins him with red, judging eyes. "You're giving it to Tomioka?"
The nigiri? Sanemi makes an affirmative sound, shrugging again.
"That's unlike you, Shinazugawa-san," Kochou pipes up, still smiling.
"What do you know what's like me and what's not," Sanemi retorts.
"Well, you usually don't think about other people," she says, and Sanemi doesn't get how Tomioka can stand her without giving into the urge to fight.
Rengoku cuts in before Kochou's smile can get even more self-satisfied and Sanemi's grip on his nichirin blade gets any more dangerous. "We should be praising Shinazugawa for looking after his comrades!"
"Of course!" Uzui joins in, and the silence falls away as the table steadily grows more rowdy.
Sanemi snorts, waves away the enthusiastic thumbs ups he receives from Rengoku. It's not that big of a deal – Tomioka just likes salmon more than him. What's wrong with letting him have it?
It's certainly not enough to warrant the look Kanroji's sending him and Tomioka. That look has never promised good things.
You caught me doing something dangerous and flipped out
Shinazugawa’s face is blank as he rubs ointment into Giyuu’s wounds in gentle circles. He hasn’t said anything since he caught Giyuu sneaking out of the Butterfly Estate and dragged him back in, only speaking when he saw Kochou and stopped to ask her for disinfectant and clean bandages.
Giyuu shifts obediently when Shinazugawa nudges his uninjured arm, turning so that he could get the larger cut on his back. The ointment gets slathered over the entrance of the wound, and Giyuu restrains a hiss at the biting numbness. Like this, he can’t see Shinazugawa’s face, but he can still feel the dark clouds roiling around the Wind Pillar, barely constraining the incoming thunderstorm.
He shivers, and not wholly due to the sting.
It is partially Giyuu’s fault, forgetting that someone besides Kochou knew that he was injured.
Not that Kochou was any better than Shinazugawa, but he has practice sneaking out under the eyes of the chief doctor of the Corps, especially when she also has other patients to look over. And if Giyuu stayed away for long enough, he could wait her icy anger out until it melted into chilly disapproval that promised far less bodily harm.
“Sorry,” he offers, when the storm doesn’t seem to abate and Shinazugawa still doesn’t speak. The hands beginning to rewrap the bandages around his torso still, and Giyuu cranes his neck around when they don’t start moving again. He just manages to restrict his instinctive jerk into a twitch at the expression on Shinazugawa's face.
“What are you apologising for?”
Giyuu pauses. “For making you see,” he says. For making you see me injured.
Shinazugawa looks away. Inhales. Exhales. And does it again, a slow in and out ten whole times before he meets Giyuu’s gaze again, eyes a stormy grey.
“You’re a fucking dumbass,” he says. Giyuu frowns. He’s not a dumbass – if anything, Shinazugawa is the dumbass, going out of his way to do a job that Kochou confirmed Giyuu could do himself.
Sure, it was easier having someone else apply the medicine to the wound, but Giyuu’s done it before and he can do it again. Grey eyes don’t leave his face and must see his reaction there, because the next moment Shinazugawa ties his bandages tight and secure, before placing his hands on Giyuu’s shoulders.
He spins Giyuu around, careful to not irritate the gash on his arm. “You are a dumbass,” he repeats, and when Giyuu’s frown deepens, continues, “Only a dumbass would try take on another job when they’re still injured. If you want to die that much, just ask me next time we spar instead,” his voice bites, acidic.
Giyuu flares up. “I’m fine.”
“‘I’m fine’,” Shinazugawa parrots. “‘Fine’ my fucking ass, you were dripping blood all over Kochou’s floorboards when I found you.” It’s not as cutting as what Shinazugawa usually dished out, but Giyuu rises up to the bait all the same. He's not weak, has been a Pillar longer than Shinazugawa. There was no need for patronisation.
“It wasn’t that much.”
“If the demon you were fighting licked the ground behind you, their head could probably regenerate.”
“I’m not a marechi.”
“Not the fucking point,” Shinazugawa says. Giyuu falls silent – Shinazugawa hardly ever stopped their arguments, not when they were more like banter nowadays than anything truly borne from dislike. “Stop pushing yourself so much. And don’t apologise for being injured, apologise for being stupid.”
Giyuu blinks, slightly blindsided. “Why?” Why do you care?
“Do you really want me to spell it out for you, dipshit?” Another exhale. The grip on his shoulders, so tight that they ache, loosens. “Just… don’t be stupid.”
“Yes.”
“You––” Shinazugawa cuts himself, closes his eyes. “Obviously it’s because I––”
Spin the bottle
Sanemi stares at the circle of swordsmen and swordswomen with disgust. The sun hasn't even fucking set yet.
Had Masachika ever realised that the group they idolised was this much of a sham? He'd probably die from the shock of it all, was he not already dead.
Uzui helps right Tokitou back up – there's no age limit for alcohol the Corps was willing to adhere to when the average lifespan of a Demon Slayer was closer to Tokitou than Himejima. The boy hiccups before promptly passing out onto Uzui's shoulder.
Yeah, definitely dead from shock. Like the previous Wind Pillar, drunk old hag that she was, wasn't bad enough.
"Now that the children are asleep," Uzui says, gleeful, adjusting Tokitou's head so that it rests on the meat of his leg rather than being awkwardly crooked against his arm, "Let's have some flamboyant fun!"
Sanemi blames the alcohol and the fact that Himejima wasn't here for not protesting. Their eldest would usual wrangle them in line whenever they were in public before anything could hope to start, but this was Kochou's house and the Rock Pillar had declined to join them this time, abstinent.
Tomioka exchanges a look of suffering with him when he meets the other's eyes. He's bracketed between Rengoku and Kanroji, shouting into his ears on either side. Sanemi winces sympathetically.
A horrendous scraping sound breaks him out his straying thoughts. Uzui's smile is almost innocent, wide-eyed in a way that would be disarming on anyone else and belied by the empty sake bottle spinning over the wooden floorboards.
"Can you shut the fuck up for a single second," Sanemi groans.
"You are very loud, Uzui," Rengoku seconds, loudly, and right into the canal of Tomioka's ear. Tomioka sends him a wronged look, and Sanemi can only apologise in his mind. "I respect that!"
"Thanks, Rengoku," Uzui picks up the bottle, flipping it in his grip. "Can always count on you to have my back."
"Are we going to start playing anytime soon, Uzui-san, or are you going to continue scratching my floors?" Kochou cuts in before Rengoku can reply, smile perfectly polite if not for the red flush over her cheeks and the way she stuck on the honorific like it was an afterthought.
"What are we doing anyway?"
"Spin the bottle!" Uzui declares. He wilts under at the six blank stares he receives.
"You were doing plenty of that before already," Kochou says, eyeing the sake bottle in Uzui's hand with distaste.
"Are we competing to see who's able to spin it for the longest?" Rengoku asks.
"I would thrash you guys if we were," Uzui says dismissively, "But nah, how have you never played before? You know, spin the bottle, kiss the person it lands on? Yes?"
"…You're depraved," Iguro breaks their disbelieving silence.
"It sounds fun!" Kanroji says. "What're the rules?"
"Let's start playing," Iguro immediately amends.
Uzui laughs. "Whipped."
"Do you want to fight, Uzui?"
"The rules, please," Kochou says.
"…Right. You spin the bottle, and if you don't want to kiss who it lands on, you drink. Got it?" They nod. Uzui's grin grows wider. "Don't back out so easily when it's your turn, yeah? No one likes a coward."
"Don't you have a wife? Wives?"
Uzui flaps his hand. "Yeah, but this is a friendly game between comrades. Why do you always want to be a buzzkill, Iguro?"
There's a pause while they figure out who goes first, before someone suggests jan-ken-pon, which Tomioka ends up winning, staring at his hands in shock until Kanroji presses an empty bottle into his hand.
"Come on, Tomioka-san," Kochou says. "You can drink now if you don't want to play."
Her words seem to spur Tomioka into action, his hands clenching around the bottle before he shuffles closer to the middle. The ceramic scrapes against the floorboards as he flicks his wrist, and he must've put too much force into it, because it spins in a shining blur for what seems like years.
"Nice spin, Tomioka," Rengoku says, when, after three minutes, the bottle still doesn't slow down. "Do you win?"
"That's… not how this game works."
"Tomioka-san, did you cheat? If you really didn't want to kiss anyone, you could have said so, you know? We wouldn't force you." Kochou lies.
Sanemi's eyes are trained on the neck of the bottle when Tomioka replies, "I never said that."
He's known the other man long enough to be able to read in between the lines, extract meaning from what he doesn't say rather than what he does. A flicker of something he can't decide feels good or bad licks at the base of his stomach at the knowledges that there is someone Tomioka wants to kiss, someone who is in this circle.
The bottle finally starts to slow, spinning around in uneven circles. They watch with baited breaths as the head of it passes Uzui, Rengoku, Tomioka himself, slowly inching towards Iguro and then past him as well and then…
Stopping in front of Sanemi. They stare at the bottle, waiting for it to continue moving, but it doesn't, pointed straight at his crossed legs with no room left for misinterpretation.
It only takes a beat for what is going to happen to click into everyone's heads. Uzui the laughs first. Rengoku follows, clapping, and Kochou hides her smirk behind her hands. "I would've paid money to see this and now you've given it to me for free," she says.
"Fuck you," Sanemi flips her off.
"You have a kiss with Tomioka-san scheduled that you have to fulfil first," she says sweetly.
"Tomioka-san and Shinazugawa-san…! That's…" Kanroji presses her hands to her cheeks.
Iguro doesn't touch him, but the look Sanemi receives is reminiscent enough of a comforting pat to the shoulder that he doesn't need to.
He doesn't know, Sanemi's brain reminds him – none of them know that kissing is the least of all the things he's done with Tomioka.
Will he be alright with it…? He can drink for the other, if he wasn't. Sanemi looks up, meets Tomioka's concerned gaze.
Are you alright with it? Blue eyes ask, pale fingers cradling his cup of sake like he'll down it all if Sanemi looks even the slightest bit uncomfortable, and he huffs.
"Well?" He says. If Tomioka has no objections, then who's Sanemi to disagree? It's just a flamboyant game between comrades, a voice in his head mocks, no need to make it weird.
Tomioka searches his face for a while longer, and Sanemi forces his expression to remain relaxed.
"If you aren't going to do anything, then you better drink up, Tomioka," Uzui says.
"Can't keep Shinazugawa waiting!"
"Fuck you guys too," Sanemi finally says, flipping Rengoku off with a glare. That must've been what Tomioka was looking for, because he stands up in a smooth motion, shrugging off his haori.
"Hey hey hey, why are you taking off your clothes, that's not part of the game––" Sanemi hears Uzui call out as Tomioka crosses the small circle, before Uzui cuts himself with a hacking cough as Tomioka settles himself into Sanemi's lap.
His thighs burn themselves over Sanemi's crossed legs, knees bracketing his hips. Like this, Tomioka fills his entire vision, and Sanemi grins up at him with the knowledge that only Tomioka can see.
"Well?" He says again, whispering. "You gonna do anything?" He's not playing fair, emulating something they both know Sanemi knows makes Tomioka weak outside of their typical hotel room, but alcohol has never facilitated the best decision making. And Sanemi rather likes the bright fire that his words spark in Tomioka's eyes.
"I'm not a coward," Tomioka says primly, and leans forward, seals his mouth over Sanemi's before he can reply.
A chorus of wolf whistles ring out behind Tomioka. Sanemi can't see who they come from, and can't find it within himself to care.
Tomioka's eyes are still open, trained on his face, but when Sanemi parts his lips, arm that was propping his body up snaking around Tomioka's waist as he cranes up and into the heat of Tomioka's mouth, those blue eyes flutter closed, and he's only half-regretful.
One of Tomioka's hands settles in his hair, tugging lightly, and Sanemi groans, nips at the meat of Tomioka's bottom lip when he feels a smug smile. His breath tastes like sake, each hot puff of air over his cheeks when Tomioka breaks away a bit more inebriating.
"…What is going on."
Sanemi tightens his grip when Tomioka makes to lean back more than what is necessary to catch his breath. Tomioka relents, leaning back in.
"Uh."
"Oi, Tomioka. You can stop."
"Please stop. I don't want to see this anymore."
Tomioka pulls back with a wet pop, a trail of gleaming saliva strung between their lips that breaks when he presses a hand over Sanemi's mouth. Sanemi nips at the curve of his palm, leaning forward before he registers the five varying levels of disgusted eyes affixed on him and Tomioka's back.
He blinks. The eyes don't disappear.
"That was disgusting," Kochou says. "I regret ever saying I would pay money to see this."
"Agreed," Uzui says. "I wanted a flamboyant fistfight or something. If I wanted to see hot make-outs, I'd just go home to my wives."
"You're also disgusting but in this instance I find myself agreeing with you."
He feels remarkably blasé, considering he just kissed Tomioka in front of all his fellow Pillars. Perhaps it's the alcohol acting as liquid courage, but Sanemi knows that, even sober, the fire coursing through his veins isn't embarrassment, but anticipation.
"Do I win?" Tomioka asks, sliding off Sanemi's lap. Sanemi bites back a smile when Tomioka glances back at him over his shoulder.
"Yeah!" Rengoku says, flashing him a thumbs up and thumping him on the back when Tomioka makes to sit back down.
"That's not even how you––," Uzui groans, rubbing his eyes. "You know what, I think that's enough for today. Much appreciated if you two would stop eye-fucking in front of us, there are children here. Kochou," He turns to face the Insect Pillar, "Where's your bedroom closest to the kitchen? I need to wash out my brain before I sleep."
"That one's taken by me," Kochou smiles. "Tomioka-san, Shinazugawa-san," she waits until both of their eyes are on her. "Find your own rooms tonight, okay?"
“Do you trust me?”
The hand he's outstretched is calloused and bloody, red smeared all over his skin and the grip of his sword.
"Well?" he says, but his eyes when he looks at you are clear, unhurried. Waiting for you.
You grab his hand without hesitation. The blood squelches between your palms and it's sticky and gross but that's insignificant compared to the furnace under his skin, the strength of his grip as he pulls you up-up-up.
Of course. There's no other answer.
Drunkenly confessing feelings
The tatami are wavy. Giyuu tries to bite back a giggle, but it slips out anyway, his shoulders shaking and jostling the man half-splayed over his shoulders.
Shinazugawa groans. "Don't move like that," he bites out, "The sky's fucking spinning."
"It's pretty." Laughter burbles out of his throat as Giyuu kicks the door to one of Oyakata-sama's rooms shut. The roof, all cross-woven delicately engraved wooden beams that shouldn't be as bent as they currently look, is certainly pretty. "You're pretty."
When he's more sober, he'll regret everything that ever lead to him drinking with the other Pillars. As he is now, Giyuu slumps down onto the floor, where the two futon are already neatly laid out, Shinazugawa tumbling off his shoulders and landing with a rush of air across the pillows.
Shinazugawa curses, face going faintly green, and Giyuu laughs again. Everything feels funny, bright and happy and he hasn't laughed this much in years. He hasn't laughed in years, can't remember a time after Sabito where he's ever felt the urge.
Alcohol really does do miraculous things. That, and being with Shinazugawa.
"Stop laughing," Shinazugawa says, which only makes Giyuu burst into giggles again. He's pretty, sprawled out over the two futon, cheeks flushed from the frankly debauched amounts of alcohol the Pillars had managed to procure, as a celebration for Oyakata-sama's birthday. The sides of his uniform hang open even more so than usual, slipping off his shoulders and revealing a patchwork of scars as pretty as the engravings on the wood lining the ceiling. "My head fucking hurts."
"You drank a lot," Giyuu says.
Shinazugawa moans, buries his face into his arms. "Don't let me challenge Kanroji to a drinking competition next time. I forgot her internal organs are made from steel."
Giyuu nods a touch too fast, and room goes blurry for a few seconds, smudging soft yellows across his vision. Giyuu blinks them away, fights back a yawn.
Shinazugawa rolls over so that he's lying properly along the futon closest to Giyuu. He lifts the blankets up, and Giyuu stares at him.
"We still have the meeting tomorrow. Go to bed," Shinazugawa says, and yawns.
"There's another futon," Giyuu says, stupidly.
"Yeah, but I want to sleep with you. Get in."
Giyuu laughs again, and it's so warm his chest feels like someone lit a fire under his lungs. He slips underneath the blanket, Shinazugawa tugging the covers over them, patting them smooth until he's satisfied.
His hand reaches up and Shinazugawa presses it against Giyuu's cheek, brushing his thumb under the curve of his eye. It's warm, too warm to the point of scalding, but Giyuu leans into it with a low sigh, lets the gentle fingers leech away at his ever present chill.
"You're like a cat," Shinazugawa says, amused.
"Sanemi––" And that will be another regret Giyuu will remember, the next morning, "is warm. It's nice."
Shinazugawa huffs, but doesn't say anything else, and Giyuu watches, half-lidded, as his eyes slip shut in millimetres, watches until they fall closed and the hand on his cheek slides off, the heat still lingering.
You’re in a coma and I confess all my feelings only for you to wake up
Kochou had told him to stop hovering – Shinazugawa-san will be perfectly fine under my care. Now stop wearing out my floorboards with your pacing.
She still lets him into the room once she’s done, though, and her voice is kinder than usual when she says, “Don’t expect him to wake up soon, Tomioka-san. It may take anywhere up to two weeks.”
Two weeks. Giyuu swallows the lump in his throat as he sits by the chair, staring at Shinazugawa. At Sanemi, who’s never this pale, his skin about to blend in his with hair and the bandages around his neck.
As Pillars, they were considered near undefeatable, and it wasn’t wrong to think so; it was rare to be injured by anything less than an one of the Twelve Demon Moons. Even the Lower Moons were easy to deal with.
But they were still human and still with weaknesses and still able to die, and Giyuu’s fist clenches at the thought of Sanemi never opening his eyes again.
“You can’t die,” Giyuu murmurs quietly. He doesn’t reach out to touch Sanemi’s hand, resting over the sheets. It looks too delicate, skin ashy from blood loss. Sanemi’s not supposed to be delicate.
“You can’t leave me as well, Sanemi,” Giyuu chokes on the name. It’s the first time he’s ever called the other by something other than his surname, but the other isn’t awake to get angry at him about it, so Giyuu thinks it’s well within his rights. Maybe if Sanemi hadn’t almost died, he’d be more considerate about the other’s sensibilities. “If you leave me like everyone else…” If you leave me like everyone else I loved, what am I meant to do?
Giyuu had closed his heart and yet Sanemi still managed to force his way in, an unrelenting typhoon blowing over all the walls he had meticulously built up, and he both hates and loves him for it.
Exhaling shakily, Giyuu turns to leave, before a pained groan stops him in his tracks.
“Tomi…oka?” Sanemi’s voice says, voice sandpaper rough. Giyuu spins around fast enough that he almost whips himself with his own hair, grabbing the jug on the bedside table and pouring out a glass of water. Sanemi pushes himself up with a wince, and takes the glass with a dip of his head in thanks. He drinks, and swallows with a relieved sigh, before looking over at Giyuu. “Why’re you here? It’s not that serious.”
I thought you died, Giyuu does not say, when Kochou said that you were taken to the Butterfly Estate for treatment I thought you’d never wake up. Instead, he says, “Lie back down, you're not meant to be sitting up. Did you hear anything I said?”
“You said something?” Sanemi asks, lowering himself back down. He looks genuinely clueless, and Giyuu lets out a silent breath of relief.
"Nothing." He’ll take these feelings, these butterflies that roost in his stomach and lock them away. They aren’t needed, not when he and Sanemi’s relationship was finally progressing into something that resembled friendship.
Whether friends often met up and had sex with each other was debatable, but Giyuu never claimed to be an expert.
Sanemi looks at him, disbelieving. He doesn’t press, though, and Giyuu is all at once confused and thankful. “Okay. Can you at least tell me why you look like you’re about to cry?”
“I don’t,” Giyuu says automatically.
“Whatever you say, Tomioka.”
Friends with benefits and both people catching feelings
Giyuu sighs as Sanemi pulls out, eyes fluttering open and hand absently dragging over the mess on his stomach.
It’s not limited to there; dried patches of translucent white that will be a bitch and a half to get out sink into their discarded uniforms, stain the tatami of the ryokan room. And the futon, cotton already absorbing as stench of sweat and sex, becomes even more uninhabitable as Giyuu pushes himself up onto his elbows, come slowly oozing over it.
Sanemi’s eyes wander down to the twitching hole and the neighbouring purpling bruise at the crease of Giyuu’s thigh, feels the flame in the pit of his navel flare up again. His eyes flicker back up to Giyuu’s face, watching as the other catches his breath, greedily taking in the little aftershocks that shiver up his spine.
He looks fucked out, eyes still cloudy in the dazed way Sanemi finds he likes best. He pushes down the smug pride curling around his chest as he stands and pulls himself away from the warm body underneath his.
Sanemi comes back from the small bathroom adjacent to their room with a wet towel in one hand and two sets of yukata in the other, chucking the towel across the room. Giyuu manages to catch it despite his dazed state, and Sanemi blocks out the rush of warmth at the bleary look he’s sent, confused and about as imperiously demanding as a newborn puppy.
“Clean yourself up,” Sanemi says in explanation, and when Giyuu’s hand lifts the towel to his abdomen and does little else, staring at the cloth like its covered in some ancient script, he sighs, plucking the towel back out of Giyuu’s hands and kneeling down. His right knee is half in a puddle of some half dried fluid, and in any other circumstance Sanemi would have moved. As it is, he does curse in disgust, but this position is the most efficient location to wipe away the come on Giyuu’s stomach in quick, rough motions.
Giyuu doesn’t complain at the abuse, eyes slipping shut. His head dips and jerks up in oscillations, black locks of hair slipping over his shoulders. Sanemi fights the urge to tuck them behind the other’s ear, finishes cleaning the last bits of come drying on the other’s chest before moving down to between Giyuu’s legs, movements turning gentler as he rubs the towel over the faint red marks dotting Giyuu’s thighs.
The skin there is covered with Sanemi and the excess lubricant Giyuu had brought with him. They’re flaky, having dried over an hour ago, but the warmth of the towel softens it, and Sanemi makes quick work of the mess, gradually moving higher and higher up. When his fingers finally brush against the area behind Giyuu’s balls and presses, Giyuu’s whole body flinches, blue eyes flying wide open and staring down at Sanemi accusingly. Sanemi bites back a grin, but his amusement shines bright through his eyes.
“It’s almost daybreak,” Giyuu says, furrowing his brows accusingly.
"You’re the one who complains if we leave it for tomorrow,” Sanemi rebuts, and Giyuu’s responding silence is enough for him to continue. He presses a thumb against the twitching entrance, feels it open up willingly for him as his own come leaks out to coat his fingers, and this time doesn’t bother to hide his grin, shark-like, as a hand shoots down to still his wrist.
Giyuu glares at him, mist clouding the surface of his eyes.
“Shinazugawa,” Giyuu says firmly, and Sanemi relents, restricting himself to cleaning.
Giyuu is right – inky purple rays and a lone bird’s song float through the windows as dawn begins to break, and both of them only have a single night of rest before they need to leave this; the ryokan, the freedom of being just Tomioka and just Shinazugawa and not a Pillar carrying the weight of Japan on their shoulders.
He finishes wiping Giyuu down, chucking the dirtied towel to a corner of the room as Giyuu shifts to the clean futon, curling up under the blankets. He’s still naked, and Sanemi clicks his tongue, depositing one of the yukata at the other’s exposed face before Giyuu falls asleep, slipping into the other one himself and pushing away the soiled futon.
They’ve done this enough that it’s become routine now – neither of them want to sleep on sticky cotton, and it's an easy compromise, sharing the remaining futon in a two-person room.
Though, recently, it’s been feeling less like a compromise, Sanemi thinks, as Giyuu finishes tying his obi and holds up the blanket for Sanemi to join him, and more like…
He slips under the blanket, and Giyuu smiles at him, small and soft and lit in apricot-coloured sunlight, before he can finish the thought.
And when had he become ‘Giyuu’, rather than ‘Tomioka?’
“Goodnight, Sane–– Shinazugawa.”
“It’s daybreak,” Sanemi parrots without heat, pretending he didn’t hear Giyuu’s slip up and pretending the firework sparks it set off don’t exist. He watches as Giyuu relaxes when Sanemi doesn’t saying anything else, eyes slipping shut and breaths evening out.
Giyuu shifts in his sleep and his black hair shifts with him, tickling at Sanemi’s nose. In the sanctuary of the other’s unconscious, Sanemi finally lets himself run his fingers through the strands, brushing them away from Giyuu’s face.
“…just ‘Sanemi’ is fine.”
Blurting out a confession of love & “I think I’m in love with you.”
"I think I'm in love with you."
The hand, pressed against where Giyuu had hit him with the hilt of his blade after realising Sanemi was in no state to dodge his blow to the head, stills.
They're in that same training ground, the one Giyuu first found him in, stubborn and about to die, and Sanemi finds it fitting that he humiliates himself twice in the same location to the same person.
"––gawa? Sanemi?" Giyuu's brows are furrowed, and he pulls Sanemi closer, peering at the crown of his head. "Did I hit you too hard just then?"
Fuck it. "I think I'm in love with you, Tomioka Giyuu," Sanemi repeats roughly, forcing it out before he chokes on a word and the rest tumbles over into a garbled mess.
And he must be, because when this started, when they started, it was just for the sex, just to scratch the itch the Demon Blood Art left him with. But when you remember pretty boy's birthday, his favourite foods, the favourite foods of his fucking kasugaigarasu because of the amount of letters you've started to send to each other, when said pretty boy's rare smiles start to make your heart beat so hard you're sometimes scared it'll fly straight out of your chest, you can't reliably say it's just sex.
Sanemi doesn't let himself think of anything, of what will happen after, of losing warm blue eyes and a smile brighter than the sun, keeping his gaze down as he waits for Giyuu's answer.
Except it never comes, and when he starts to life his head up to see if Giyuu actually ran away or something, he hears a muffled voice, "Don't look."
It's not the rejection he had been dreading, and Sanemi let's himself hope.
"If you say something like that then of course I'm going to fucking want to look," Sanemi says, and looks up.
Giyuu narrows his eyes, but the strength of it is taken away by the fact that his face is flushed brighter pink than the salmon he so loves. Sanemi's throat dries, and he's vaguely aware of his mouth dropping open.
"I said not to look, Shinazugawa," Giyuu says, covering his face with his hands.
"Whatever, Tomioka," Sanemi says, on autopilot. Does that mean…? Is he allowed to guess what that means…? He leans forward, grabs Giyuu's arms and pulls his hands away. His face is still a ruddy red, blotched all over his cheeks and down his neck into the collar of his uniform, and any other time Sanemi would've loved to see just how far down his blush would go, but he's transfixed, watching the way Giyuu whips his head away but still lets Sanemi tighten the grip on his wrist.
"Tomioka. Tomioka Giyuu," Sanemi repeats. "I love you. Be mine."
And he waits, dreading and hoping and regretting, until the tension lining Giyuu's body leaks out and he relaxes in Sanemi's grip and slowly, slowly, smiles, wide and so bright that Sanemi's heart feels fit to burst.
"Okay," Giyuu says, and it's not the verbal reciprocation Sanemi had been hoping for, but in the face of that smile, it's enough.
A soft smile before leaning in for a kiss
Giyuu doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it, Sanemi’s smiles.
The wide, bloodthirsty snarl during the heat of a spar or against an unfortunate demon.
The pleased grin he reserves for the numerous 'strays' that wander in and out of the Wind Estate.
The small smiles that come out in front of Oyakata-sama’s children as they politely ask to play.
For once, Giyuu’s thankful that he’s always silent, for each of their appearances rob him of his breath and his mind far too thoroughly. It’s only gotten worse from when whatever he felt for Sanemi was restricted to crush and the times he saw a peek of a smile were few and far between.
No, he’s far past crush – crush was what he and Sabito would tease each other about when Giyuu would lose all his words into a mess of stuttered apologies and Sabito flushed pinker than his hair whenever they passed by the pretty shopkeeper in the village a few kilometres out from Mount Sagiri. Crush was light-hearted, treatable, curable.
Whatever this was now, Giyuu can no longer be saved.
Sanemi’s hand presses against his face and Giyuu turns into it, nose brushing against the meat of his calloused palm. He hears a muffled laugh, and cracks his eyes open. He hadn't realises that they had been closed.
Blinking to clear his vision, Giyuu stares as the corner of Sanemi’s lips turn up-up-up and his entire face softens, skin usually pulled taut over scars relaxing as he gazes back, grey eyes crinkled as he smiles.
He says something – Giyuu’s name, a question, an observation. Whatever it was, Giyuu doesn’t hear it. He nods anyway, and watches as Sanemi leans in, closer and closer until Giyuu’s lips are pressed against Sanemi’s upturned ones and he can experience for himself the curve of that smile.
Giyuu parts his lips, lets Sanemi sweep his tongue over his own and cradle his face and murmur something into Giyuu's mouth that gets drowned out by the heart beating up his throat and out of his chest.
He doesn’t think he wants to be saved, not when this feels like he’s standing by the ocean, cradled by the sea-warmed wind.
Taking care of the other when sick or injured
Giyuu wrings the towel in his hands slowly, eyes thoughtful. “This is like that time when you fought the demon with the Lust Blood Demon––”
“This is definitely nothing like that,” Sanemi cuts him off. He tries to push himself up, but his arms betray him, folding underneath the weight of his body as he falls back onto the bed with an anticlimactic oomph.
His squeezes his eyes shut when something cold and soggy touches his forehead, only to blink them back open a few moments later against the stray droplets trailing down the length of his face, frayed white edging his vision and partly obscuring Giyuu’s face.
Giyuu leaves the towel across his forehead, and Sanemi feels some of the tension in his body leech into the comforting chill and the cold hand pressed against his cheek.
"They say only idiots get sick during summer," Giyuu says, and Sanemi sends him a dirty look even as he leans into his palm. .
"I don't want to hear this from a bastard who gets sick every winter. Must've caught it from you."
His eyelids feel heavy and his brain two sizes too big for his skull, so Sanemi lets them slip shut without waiting for Giyuu's response, the darkness a comforting reprieve from the harsh summer sun shining through the open shoji.
The cold hand pulls away. He hears the clack of wood on wood, and Sanemi blinks one eye open to see the shoji slid shut, rows of paper squares lit up and valiantly keeping the sunlight at bay.
Giyuu turns back to face him. "Better?" He says, the thin paper of the shoji lighting him in a soft white glow. He's out of his uniform, dressed in a thin kimono he must have misappropriated from Sanemi's clothes left around the Wind Pillar Estate because it's a size too large on him, collar slightly wide and the line of his neck pale and shining.
Sanemi wants to kiss it, pepper his mouth all over the line of his collar and up until he can kiss Giyuu. He groans, and turns away.
"No?"
"It's fine," Sanemi says. "Thanks. Don't come over here, I'll want to kiss you and then you're going to get even sicker than me."
There's a soft laugh, and Sanemi regrets, vaguely, turning away and missing the smile that must be paired with it. He feels dry lips press against the part of his face not covered by the towel, right at the edge of one of his scars.
"You'll look after me if I do."
You’re leaving for something dangerous and I can’t help but kiss you
Sanemi slips off the bed and tugs on his uniform, careful not to wake the man still sleeping. His kasugaigarasu peers at him from the window, but she generously stays silent as he pulls on his haori. When he doesn't head straight for the door, gaze lingering on the bed, she flies over to land on his shoulder, pecking at the side of his head.
"I know we're late," Sanemi hisses, flapping his hand at her. She squawks, indignant, and Sanemi shushes her quickly, glancing back at the bed once he grabs his blade.
He stills when he hears the sound of fabric rustling as Giyuu shifts, waiting with baited breath.
But Giyuu just rolls over, eyes shut and breathing even and deep, and Sanemi exhales softly. His crow nudges her head into his cheek, the closest thing to an apology she's ever managed, and he rolls his eyes but still scratches the feathers by her neck.
"Let's go," he says, heading towards the door of the hotel room where he and Giyuu's uniform boots lay in messy pile.
The bedsheets crinkle again. "…Sanemi?"
Sanemi stops in his tracks, foot only halfway in his shoes. Giyuu pushes himself up on the bed, rubbing his eyes. He blinks, bleary.
"What are you doing on the floor?"
"Unlike some people, I have to work today," he answers, but it's soft. "Go back to sleep."
Giyuu makes a noncommittal sound, and Sanemi goes back to pulling on his shoes. He hears the sound of soft padding towards him, finishes tightening the buckles around his legs and turns around just in time to see Giyuu stop in front of him.
His hair is loose, a messy tangle over his shoulders, and his yukata's open, obi having slipped off in the middle of the night. He's not wearing anything underneath it either, and Sanemi lets himself take in the red dotting over his thighs and chest with something akin to smug possessiveness.
There's a quiet sound, almost a laugh, and Sanemi looks up, blinking when Giyuu's suddenly close enough to kiss, wisps of hair tickling at his cheeks.
"Come back safely," Giyuu says, though neither of them are likely to return to this particular hotel, but Sanemi nods anyway, and lets Giyuu kiss him softly.
"I will," Sanemi says. Giyuu smiles at him, and he can't resist, leaning back in and letting himself enjoy the feeling of Giyuu's mouth under his until his crow squawks again, indignant.
"It's time to go! There's a gathering of demons West! West!"
Sanemi groans against Giyuu's bottom lip, and this time the small huff of air he feels before he pulls away is unmistakably a laugh.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
Sanemi wakes up warm. That in itself is not unusual, even in the middle of winter – temperature regulation is as easy as breathing with Full Focus Breath, but he is uncomfortably warm, to the point of almost sweating.
There’s also a familiar weight over the right side of his body, and he cracks open a sleep-crusted eye, peeks down at Giyuu.
Giyuu stares back unabashedly, chin resting on the backs of his hands, which in turn rest on Sanemi’s pectoral.
“What are you doing?” Sanemi groans out, letting his eyes fall shut again.
“Watching you,” Giyuu answers, and a hand reaches out to cup at his cheek. Sanemi places his own hand over it before it can pull away, shifting his grip to a thin wrist and using it to pull Giyuu further up the bed. Giyuu makes an affronted noise but complies, letting himself half-sprawl over Sanemi, face a mere inch away.
“'Morning,” Sanemi says, eyes half open to admire the way Giyuu’s face breaks into a small smile. He’s in a yukata that he borrowed from Sanemi, pale cheeks red with creases from the pillow, hair mussed up.
He looks like some kind of otherworldly being, and he’s all Sanemi’s.
“You’re beautiful,” he says before he can even process what he was thinking.
Sleep makes his tongue looser, makes the truth come out more easily. Sanemi finds that he doesn’t mind the slip, not when he’s greeted with Giyuu’s reaction; those eyes widening and the sky spilling out, lips parted as a flush spreads from his ears to his face, engulfing the pillow crease marks. The hand still pressed against the side of his face curls into itself, embarrassed, before the fingers splay out, thumb stroking at the jagged scars crisscrossing over his forehead, his cheek, his nose.
“Good morning,” Giyuu finally says, eyes softening and flush receding. “You are beautiful as well,” he adds, and Sanemi lets himself smile in return.
There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close
Giyuu grabs onto the arm of Sanemi's haori and tugs before the man can walk any further down the street. They tumble into an alleyway, and belatedly he realises that he's used too much force, wincing as he trips over some debris on the ground and his head clacks against damp brick.
"What the hell was that for, Giyuu––" Giyuu slaps a hand over Sanemi's mouth, and he falls silent, arching a pale brow. Giyuu jerks his head to the mouth of the alley, Sanemi following his gaze up to the window of the second-storey room of the building across the street. A moment later, the muted curtains open, and they watch as a man glances through the gap before turning around, most likely to report something to his superiors. The superiors they were tracking, and who weren't meant to know that they were being tracked.
The mouth under his hand goes slack with understanding, and Giyuu looks up to find Sanemi's eyes trained on the window of the building. He pulls his hand away, exposing Sanemi's barely-there grin, and without looking away from the window the Wind Pillar murmurs, voice deep and low – "What're you looking at."
"Focus," Giyuu says.
"Yeah, yeah, like they can hear us from here. No one's gonna be coming down when they think they're being watched, at least not from the front."
Giyuu's inclined to agree, but a job was a job and if they could get the names of the groups that decided to break off their deals with the Corps it would be much easier on all of them in the future, so he stares at Sanemi until the other relents, pulling himself up straight.
Their knees clack together, and Sanemi has to shove his feet in the space between Giyuu's to keep his balance, the alleyway far too narrow to allow for them to be anything other than in each other's space.
It is possibly the only good thing about this assignment to date, though Giyuu's not about to voice that thought aloud.
Sanemi leans closer, resting his weight on the arm trapped next to Giyuu's head and bringing them chest-to-chest. Giyuu's close enough to feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, smell the slightly sweet scent clinging to the collar of his white uniform.
"You're eye-catching," Giyuu says.
Sanemi coughs. "What the fuck?"
"No," Giyuu corrects, "Your uniform is eye-catching. They'll see us." Not that it would pose a threat if they did, but Kiriya-sama preferred a layer of deniability when the Corps dealt with the new groups popping up all over Tokyo like weeds.
"…Bastard," Sanemi says, "You should've thought about that before dragging me on top of you into this shitty side-street."
Giyuu resents that – he did not drag Sanemi on top of him with any of the untoward intentions he can hear Sanemi imply in the silent leer of his words. "We're working," he says.
"This is the easiest fucking job Kiriya-sama had. He doesn't even need a Pillar for it, let alone both of us," Sanemi moves his face closer, intent clear in his eyes. Giyuu blocks his path with his hand.
"You were the one who kept complaining that you had nothing to do."
Sanemi rolls his eyes, nips at the meat of his palm, and Giyuu pulls away with a wince. "Yeah, but we're just watching a building for the entire night. Can't we make-out while we're doing that?"
"No."
"Why'd you decide to come along then?"
"Baby-sitting," Giyuu says, prompt, and Sanemi's throat rumbles, other arm coming up to bracket Giyuu against the brick wall.
"I'll show you baby-sitting––" The creak of old hinges cuts Sanemi off, makes him press closer to Giyuu, eyes flitting up to the entrance of the building. The entrance of the building Giyuu can no longer see, white sleeves blocking the view.
"Move."
"Move where?" Sanemi hisses back at him, and Giyuu sighs.
"…What colour's the crest on their back?" He tries instead. It's not like Sanemi could make any large movements, not without the chance that he attracts unwanted attention.
Sanemi glances down at him disbelievingly. "You're really asking me that? I'm gonna go with red, and a darker shade of red."
Oops. "The… shape?" Giyuu tries again.
There's a pause, before he feels the shaking of the body around his. Giyuu aims a kick dead centre to the other's shin, and Sanemi curses, stops laughing. "Focus."
"'Focus', he says," Sanemi mutters, before looking back up. He squints. "There's a diamond-looking one, and the darker one's a really fucking ugly bird-looking thing–– oi, stop laughing at me. I'm trying."
"Any– any others?" Giyuu chokes out, muffling his voice with his hand.
"Yeah, wait– there's people still coming out."
They go quiet, listening to the sound of footsteps outside the alley grow louder and fade away in uneven intervals. Sanemi quietly describes each crest when he can get a good look at their backs – "Another of those bird-looking ones, and a mountain."
That's at least three separate groups then, who've decided to cut ties with the Corps. They'll describe the crests to Kiriya-sama once they return – the mountain crest should belong to the Nishiyama Clan, but he wasn't familiar with the others.
You'd think being a Demon Slayer would entitle far more demon slaying, but with Kibutsuji Muzan out of the picture and the slow, slow process of ridding Japan of all remaining demons already underway, they were more like mercenaries with swords.
At least, when Giyuu was still being taught under Urokodaki-san, he never would've thought he'd be stalking the yakuza to make sure they're paying their appropriate dues.
"That was the last guy," Sanemi says, deliberate.
Giyuu pauses, tilts his head as he considers the last two hours. He makes an affirmative sound. "Good job," he says, and laughs at the disappointed exhale that gusts over his shoulder.
Sanemi's tipped his head onto Giyuu's shoulder, hair tickling at the underside of Giyuu's chin.
Giyuu grabs the back of his head, tugging lightly at the strands and waits for Sanemi to look up before he presses a closed-mouth kiss, brief and light, on the corner of Sanemi's lips.
"Fucking tease," Sanemi says, once Giyuu pulls away and his mouth clacks back shut. He grabs at the hand still fisted in his hair, presses Giyuu into the bricks of the wall and kisses him, at first as chaste as Giyuu's, and then deeper and wetter and messier until they're panting into each other's mouths and Giyuu can feel the heat of Sanemi's cheeks radiating over his own even if he can't see their cherry red in the shadows of the alleyway.
He would've never thought, either, that he'd one day thoroughly inspect the interiors of Shinazugawa Sanemi's mouth in some dark side-street at some ungodly hour of the morning, but Giyuu wasn't complaining.
I’m scared but won’t admit it so you take my hand
Giyuu stares. Beady black eyes stare back, and when Giyuu tries to move closer, the shiba inu growls, ears flattened against her head.
He jerks his hand back when it nips at his fingers, and the dog relaxes, sneezing before trotting away to the opposite side of the engawa.
"That was pathetic," Sanemi says. He holds a piece of watermelon up for the shiba inu, who barks happily and bites at the fruit in Sanemi's hands, licking his fingers clean and then rolling over for tummy rubs like he wasn't just threatening to kill Giyuu a few moments ago. "She literally doesn't even come up to your knees."
Which is true, but Giyuu was almost attacked. He'd appreciate it if Sanemi didn't laugh at his near-death experience.
Sanemi snorts when he says as such – "Don't be so fucking dramatic. All of my dogs are friendly."
"To you, maybe," Giyuu mutters, as a larger spitz pads out onto the engawa and noses at Sanemi's side until the Wind Pillar feeds it a piece of watermelon as well, hand stilling and still buried in the shiba inu's fur. She yips until Sanemi resumes his petting of her stomach.
Sanemi liked to say that his dogs weren't pets – which Giyuu knew was untrue.
For one, they all lived in the Wind Estate, a constant enough presence that there were even a few Kakushi assigned to look after them when Sanemi was out. For another, they had names, all horrible because Sanemi couldn't be trusted to not name his dogs things like Ichi-gou, Ni-gou, San-gou, Yon-gou and so forth in the order of adoption.
And it's not like they had any other people to call masters, when most of them were the pets left behind after a demon attack.
Giyuu reaches out for the platter of watermelon and flinches away when the shiba inu growls at him.
"Hey, down," Sanemi frowns, and shiba inu looks up at him innocently. He looks back up at Giyuu, flaps his hand in a come hither motion. "Okay, get over here."
"They'll bite me," Giyuu says, sullen. Sanemi rolls his eyes, grabbing his wrist and tugging.
"They won't," Sanemi says. "Sangou, come here. Good girl." He scratches behind the shiba inu's ears when she pads up to him, tongue lolling out, and Giyuu bites back a laugh.
"You actually named her 'Sangou'?"
"What's wrong with that?" Sanemi says defensively. He shifts his grip up Giyuu's wrist so that his hand grips his fingers. "Do you want me to help you or not?"
Giyuu obediently stays silent, letting Sanemi slowly bring his hand closer and closer to Sangou. The shiba inu growls lightly, but her ears flick back up as she looks between Giyuu and Sanemi, and finally, Giyuu's fingers press into almond-coloured fur. It's softer than he expected, and there's so much of it that when he presses his hand down, curious, his hand sinks down and disappears.
Sangou bares her teeth, nipping at his fingers. Giyuu flinches, but before he can yank his hand back to safety, Sanemi tightens his grip on his hands, guides it to Sangou's neck.
"Good girl," Sanemi murmurs, and Sangou looks like she can't decide between hating Giyuu and listening to Sanemi, which Giyuu really shouldn't find as relatable as he does. His fingers curl over Giyuu's, making them dig into the think fur there. "Be good for 'Nemi."
Giyuu chokes, shoulders shaking.
"Stop fucking laughing, I'm trying to help you," Sanemi growls, but his ears are red and he called himself 'Nemi and Giyuu has tears in his eyes, his hand clutching at Sangou's fur for strength.
"I hope someone bites you," Sanemi says.
"Sorry, I'll be good for 'Nemi," Giyuu manages to get out, pulling his hand away. Sangou whines, pressing her neck back against his fingers, and his laughter dies out at he stares.
Sanemi sniffs. "Sangou has low standards," he says, but his hand brushes over Giyuu's gently as he moves to scratch behind Sangou's ears and he handfeeds Giyuu all the remaining watermelon, so if Sangou had low standards, then so did her master.
You took a bullet for me
"Are you stupid?" Giyuu hisses. His hair is in disarray and eyes sparkling like a lake under the summer sun, and Sanemi swears there's a halo of light around his head.
Though that might just be from the blood loss.
"You are stupid," Giyuu continues, tearing off Sanemi's haori and using it to staunch the wound. He's always so hot when he gets mad.
"You're so hot when you get mad," Sanemi says. He blinks, a voice of warning puncturing through the fog in his brain. "I'm injured, you can't hit me."
Those pretty lips press together tightly until they're almost white. "You're lucky that this isn't fatal," Giyuu says. "Or else I would've killed you myself."
Even Sanemi's cotton-stuffed head can see the discrepancy. "I'd already be dead though–– Fuck! Do you not know how to tie a bandage? Want me to do it instead?"
"People who jump in front of gun for others don't get painless bandaging," Giyuu says, tugging the knot tight. The man that had originally aimed at Giyuu as long been incapacitated – Giyuu had recovered from the shock of Sanemi pushing him out of the way fast enough to slice the barrel of the pistol clean in half, before knocking the man out.
"I'm fine," Sanemi says. "This is child's play compared to dealing with demons anyway." He wasn't lying – the bullet went clean through his shoulder at a close enough proximity that the entrance wound isn't even big enough to be a blip on Sanemi's veritable canvas of scars. It was a vacation, cleaning up the budding yakuza who were annoying Kiriya-sama.
Though fighting humans instead of demon left an ashy taste in Sanemi's mouth, even if he understood the necessity.
"And yet you still ended up getting shot," Giyuu snaps back. "If this is child's play for you, maybe you should go back to the womb."
Sanemi's realised, gradually, that Giyuu's tongue always gets sharper when he's worried – not when he feels threatened, not when he's embarrassed, but only when the people he cares for are injured. He relaxes, and laughs as Giyuu helps him up, arm a solid and steady band across his waist.
"Stop laughing, you'll open the wound," Giyuu says.
"Kiss it better?"
Blue eyes whip around, narrowing at him, and Sanemi tries his best to look innocent and not at all teasing.
It doesn't work, but he still gets his kiss.
Jolting awake after a nightmare and being comforted
Nightmares no longer make him scream, but he still hasn’t managed to stop waking up in cold sweat.
He’s not sure if he wants to. They are a marker that he’s still alive, a reminder of Sabito and Tsutako-neesan and so many other’s sacrifices, and Giyuu is no longer a coward who will run from his past.
Running a hand through his hair and pushing himself upright, Giyuu exhales shakily.
It certainly isn’t pleasant, though, remembering.
Some days he almost wishes he had never met Tanjirou, if only so that he could've continued to live in ignorance and let himself run away forever.
The moon shines through the open shoji of the Wind Estate, and Giyuu lets himself catch his breath under its unjudging gaze. His yukata sticks to his skin, but as his sweat dries, it airs out again, drafts sneaking into his collar and up his sleeves, chilly.
Giyuu shivers, and the man beside him shifts, rolling over so that his face is half lit by moonlight. Sanemi’s brows are relaxed, and his breaths steady, hand curled up next to him. The light makes his hair burn like white fire, and Giyuu can’t resist running a hand through it, brushing at the soft strands.
“…Stop moping,” Sanemi mumbles, curled hand reaching over Giyuu’s lap. He tugs with surprising strength, and Giyuu catches himself against the tatami before he can accidentally squish Sanemi’s face with the weight of his upper body, blinking down bemusedly.
The other’s eyes don’t open, and his breath remains steady, a slow in-out-in-out that makes Giyuu’s eyelids droop.
“Sleep,” Sanemi says. Giyuu smiles, and lifts the blankets so that he can slide back in. The other’s arms adjust, wrapping around his waist as Sanemi’s face buries itself into the crook of Giyuu’s neck.
It’s grounding. Giyuu lets his eyes slip shut, and sleeps.
Kissing in the rain and getting soaked before running inside laughing
Sanemi-san's eyes have gotten less bloodshot.
Kiriya-sama is still talking when Mitsuri has this realisation, and while she and the Pillars all respect him as much as they respected his father, they were far more relaxed five years after defeating Muzan. At least, relaxed enough to drift off during their biannual meetings. Kiriya-sama, bless the boy who's now grown into a brilliant young man, doesn't begrudge them of that.
Tengen-san slaps Obanai-san on the back, laughing about something or other, and Obanai-san snaps back, "Why are you still here if you're retired, bastard?"
They're both so cool, Mitsuri thinks with a dreamy sigh, before turning her gaze back on Sanemi-san. When she first became a Pillar, calling the other Pillars by their first names seemed like a pipedream, one that she would aim for but wouldn't be too disappointed if it was never reached.
Defeating the father of all demons together, however, was, she found, rather conducive to friendships. Enough that she's close enough to Sanemi-san to comment on it after Kiriya-sama pauses between the topic of Tanjirou-kun's new Tsuguko application.
"Have you been sleeping more recently, Sanemi-san?"
Sanemi-san's eyes dart up from the side, blinking at her in incomprehension, and they really are different, grey irises calm and no longer lined with red. "What's it to you?"
He doesn't mean it rudely. Obanai-san puffs up anyway.
"Shinazugawa, don't be rude to Kanroji."
"You still call her 'Kanroji'?" Sanemi-san says judgingly, and Obanai-san, if possible, bristles up more, Kaburamaru tightening around his neck in order to not be thrown off. His forked tongue flicks out pleadingly as his beady red eyes make contact with Mitsuri.
Who was she to do the cute snake a disservice? "I was just wondering," Mitsuri cuts in. "Your eyes look better!"
The rest of the Pillars, at her words, crane their necks around to stare at his eyes. Sanemi-san shifts under their stares, pushing himself back to half hide behind Giyuu-san.
"Stop fucking staring at me."
"Woah, Shinazugawa-san! They really do look better," Tanjirou-kun says, voice awed, as he peeks around the other side of the Water Pillar. Sanemi-san swears at him, and Giyuu-san sighs, drags both of them back to their sitting positions on his left and right.
"Something good must've happened recently," someone says teasingly, and the Pillar meeting devolves from there. Kiriya-sama just sighs, Kanata-sama filling his cup of tea with a consoling pat.
It becomes unsalvageable when the clouds that had blanketed the mountain all morning finally groan with the exertion of keeping all their water suspended in the air, thunder rolling in through the open window and Zenitsu-kun, the new Lightning Pillar, screaming as a sudden flash of lightning bolts across the sky with a loud crack.
"Are you okay, Zenitsu?" Tanjirou-kun asks, ever the attentive older brother figure, as Zenitsu-kun covers his ears and flings himself into the Sun Pillar's awaiting arms, bawling.
"Alright," Kiriya-sama finally says, resignation running clear through every line of his tired sixteen year old stature, "Let's continue the meeting tomorrow. The storm is too loud for us to be able to discuss anything of import anyway."
"You are free to make use of any of our rooms," Kuina-sama tacks on, and they all latch onto the offer gladly, no one foolish enough to brave the ferocity of a spring typhoon.
Only later, in the safety of her room, does Kanroji go to check on the progress of the storm again, pushing open her windows.
It's calmed down, evolved into a misty downpour. She watches the storm clouds roil overhead like an angry grey river, until a flash of white her catches her eye.
Her gaze flickers down. It's Sanemi-san, white haori bright against the dark backdrop of the sky. He's already soaking wet, usual spiky white hair hanging in sad droops, but Mitsuri watches, curious, as he head further into the estate's garden rather than retreating inside.
She's about to call out to him until he reaches to grab someone else's arm, and realises with a start that it's Giyuu-san, his haori having blended a bit too well into the pinks and greens of the flowerbeds.
Sanemi-san says something Mitsuri doesn't manage to catch through the sound of rain, tugging at Giyuu-san's arm.
But Giyuu-san doesn't budge, still staring up at the rain, and Mitsuri watches as Sanemi-san frowns, eyes narrowing. Before he can start his tirade, Giyuu-san presses a kiss to the corner of his open mouth, and Mitsuri just barely manages to stifle her squeal.
They all knew the Wind Pillar and Water Pillar had improved their relations, but neither were very tactile individuals without being plied with alcohol beforehand, nor open about their love lives. This development was…!
Giyuu-san pulls away first. Mitsuri can't see his face, but she can see Sanemi-san's, can see the way his eyes, shining and bracketed by wet white lashes, seem to physically soften.
There's not even a hint of once prominent lines that spread like red lightning across the whites of his eyes, and Mitsuri thinks she knows what, exactly, was the good thing that happened recently.
She ducks away from the window before she sees anymore, giggling when a few minutes later she hears the crack of rain splattering against the earth and a loud swear, before two pairs of footsteps run for cover.
Maybe Obanai-san was willing to do something like that with her. But Kaburamaru was weak against the cold, so perhaps they would have to switch it out for something else…?
Wrapping arms around them when they make breakfast
A pair of strong arms wrap around his waist, tightening. Inky hair tickles the side of his cheek as Giyuu rests his chin on Sanemi’s shoulder, and Sanemi restrains the urge to press him against an available surface after hearing Giyuu’s slow, scratchy, “Morning, Sanemi,” and kiss him fully awake.
Instead, he raises his free hand and aims a flick at Giyuu’s forehead, snapping his occupied wrist to toss the food in the wok up before catching it again. It sizzles, drowning out Giyuu’s offended noise.
The man doesn’t puff up any more than that though, content to settle himself against Sanemi’s back and sleep with his head pillowed against the crook of Sanemi’s neck and shoulder. Sanemi grits his teeth at the sensation of slightly dry lips brushing over the very tops of his spine, hand tightening on the handle of the wok.
Usually, they were both early to rise and late to sleep, years and years of discipline that welded their circadian rhythms set. Today, however, Giyuu’s head almost rolls off Sanemi’s shoulder, and he loses his grip on the wok in order to catch the side of Giyuu’s head in his hand, pushing it back up and considerately biting back a loud curse.
It was, technically, Sanemi’s fault, and just when he starts debating whether or not he should ask if Giyuu’s body was alright from last night, the threat of being on the receiving end of judging eyes aside, Giyuu perks up, eyelashes fluttering against the exposed skin near Sanemi’s collar.
His slowly loosening grip around Sanemi tightens again, and he murmurs into the fabric of Sanemi’s shirt. “Is it salmon daikon?”
Sanemi looks down at the wok and the sliced duck meat staring back up at him. “There’s pickled radish in the pantry,” he offers instead, and feels the motion of a nod against this back. “…Hey. Do I look like a bed to you.”
“You're comfortable.”
Sanemi sighs to keep himself from grinning like a fool. “How are you going to eat if you’re just gonna fall asleep into your food?”
Giyuu shifts; Sanemi can almost hear his answer even if the other doesn't say it aloud.
“I’m not feeding you. Eat by yourself.”
He feels a huff of breath that dampens his clothes for a moment. “…It’s your fault I’m this tired.”
Sanemi pats Giyuu’s arms still around his torso and brings the wok off the fire. He shuffles along the kitchen bench, feels Giyuu drag himself along with him.
“You were the one begging for it,” he refutes, and bites back a smile at the arms that squeeze painfully around him in retaliation.
He still ends up feeding Giyuu breakfast and pickled radish under the noon sun.