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“So you think you’re better than us or something!?”
No.
In fact, Giyuu thought quite the opposite.
Lighting the incense candle, he places the stick down and clasps his hands together as the smoke begins to arise. In the dimly-lit room, a picture of Sabito and another picture of Tsutako lie on top of the altar. He sits on his knees, a prayer escaping his lips as he sits in silence.
It was routine for him. Every night, he sat in front of this altar, knees under himself sitting on a plush mat as he paid his respects to the most important people in his life. If Tanjiro were to pass, then he would put his picture up there too, for if he wasn’t pressured to take his own life in the first place.
(He’d put this on himself.)
Life was a foreign thing to him. He’d never learned how to live. Every day, it was just waking up, opening his eyes, putting on his uniform and wishing someone would take his place so he could leave. Leave physically, or leave the corps--it didn’t matter to him. That’s why he’d let Tanjiro live. He’d seen the life and the determination in the boy, he’d had Urokodaki train him with Water Breathing so one day he could rise up and become the next Water Hashira.
The real reason why he offered to kill himself was so he could take the easy way out. Urokodaki had done it as a plea to trust Tanjiro and his sister, but Giyuu secretly hoped that Nezuko would succumb to her demonic instincts and fuck up marginally.
But that never happened. Because now, she had conquered the sun, and Tanjiro had already vanquished a member of the Kizuki and a former member and he still hadn’t been promoted. He’d near-mastered Sun Breathing and it was only a matter of time before Muzan would take his final breath.
That’s what this whole Hashira training thing was, wasn’t it? So the Demon Slayers could get stronger and take on the King of Demons himself. Giyuu wasn’t participating. He chose not to, much to Himejima’s dismay. He’s sorry, but he knows that he couldn’t provide a good training regimen for the Demon Slayers to follow. Iguro was doing awareness training which was a good skill to have. It is always good to be aware of your surroundings. Kanroji was doing flexibility training, a skill he could empathize with due to the flowy movements of Water Breathing. It can help with training your breathing style and evading your surroundings. Himejima was doing endurance training, another skill which was good to have, Kochou wasn’t participating as far as he was concerned and Shinazugawa was doing strength training.
Speaking of, the man was knocking at his door now. With an angry shout and three bangs on the front door of his estate, Giyuu sighs and stands up.
“Tomioka! Open the door!” He says, or more like shouts. Giyuu reluctantly stands up and slides the door open, finding Shinazugawa with his fist raised like he’s about to bang again. He lowers it, and Giyuu grumbles a, “Can I help you?”
“Why’d you walk out like that?”
Giyuu turns his back, walking down the hall and Sanemi wordlessly follows him.
“Hey, wait, you shithead!” He barks. Feet patter against the wood of his home and he regrets letting him in now. He really doesn’t want to do this today--he’d already fucked up by calling him a simpleton at the Hashira meeting, and when he tried walking out Sanemi had been ready to throw hands with him, no doubt ready to it now. “What’s got you so tied up?”
“Why does it matter to you?” He says with his back still facing the man. “You come into my home to interrogate me; don’t you have better things to do?”
Sanemi gapes, clearly taken aback. “Do you talk to everyone so crudely?”
“No, just you.” He sighs, “Would you like some tea?”
“I-- no!” He angrily shouts, his sword clatting against the wall as he knocks into it. He grumbles, rubs his forehead and reaches his arm out to grab Tomioka’s bicep when he’s being grabbed by the wrist sharply and pushed toward him. His chest meets Giyuu, and there’s a fire burning in his blue eyes.
“Don’t touch me.” Giyuu says, tightening his grip on his wrist. “I don’t like people invading my personal space. Please leave.”
Sanemi calms, gently bringing his other hand up and gently prodding Tomioka’s wrist off of him. “I just want to talk.”
“There is nothing to talk about.” He bites out, clearly agitated. It’s a side he’s never seen of the man before, an emotion masking his face that he doesn’t recall Tomioka having expressed. He was always a quiet and reserved man, so this was a complete shock to see him matching his own crude attitude with an angry one of his own.
Sanemi observed him, studying him carefully as he leaned on the wall away from Tomioka, giving him enough space to work as he prepared two cups of tea. He sets them down at the table in the center of the room and he looks up at Sanemi.
“Say what you want to say, then leave.” He says, “Please,” then, he adds pathetically.
“Alright.” Sanemi huffs, removing his sword from his hip and taking off his shoes. He sits down opposite to Giyuu and takes a sip. It’s green tea, the kind he likes--with a little sugar added in there and Sanemi raises an eyebrow.
Giyuu shrugs.
“Tanjiro told me what you like.”
“Ugh, that brat,” He rolls his eyes. Then, he addressed the elephant in the room: “Why’d you walk out?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Come on, Tomioka. You said I could say what I wanted to say, and then I’d leave. That’s what I’m saying. Why’d you walk out?”
Giyuu pauses.
He looks up at him, blue eyes filled with sorrow, regret and anger and suddenly Sanemi finds himself looking at a younger version of himself where he’d just killed his mother and the nightmares haunted him for the first time.
“I don’t belong here.” He says. Sanemi scoffs.
“Right, cause you’re so much better than us.”
“No, you misunderstand.” Giyuu shakes his head, “I’m weak. Powerless. I couldn’t kill Tanjiro and his sister. I succumbed to a pleading child. It was pathetic.”
Sanemi recalls the day the first Hashira meeting in a while had been called and Sanemi got wind of the wooden box and tried to kill that little girl. Now she seemed like the key to peace.
“Then I signed myself up for suicide, willingly. That’s why I don’t belong. I’m a fraud.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sanemi grunts out as he takes another sip of his tea. “You’re the fuckin’ Water Hashira. You’ve got gold buttons on your uniform and you’ve been here longer than me.”
Giyuu swallows. “I shouldn’t. Be a Hashira, I mean. I didn’t even pass Final Selection.”
Shinazugawa hums. It wasn’t uncommon for slayers to not pass Final Selection. Except, most, if not all of them ended up dead. So what was the deal with Tomioka?
“What do you mean?”
“There was a boy.” Ah, yes, a boy. There was a rumor amongst the Hashira that Giyuu was… of the sort, no doubt created by either Uzui or Iguro to mess with the man. “He was my best friend. We ran into a demon that… was stronger than all the rest. We were thirteen-- he was thirteen.” His voice cracks at the he, tears threatening to spill down his face as he recalls the rather unpleasant memory.
“I passed out from exhaustion. When I woke up, I was in the medical ward and had been deemed a survivor. I never saw him again.” Giyuu grips the patterned side of his haori, and now suddenly Sanemi feels bad for talking shit about the ugly pattern. Especially if it meant something so special to him, reminded him of someone he used to love or care about. “My haori… it was part of his kimono. I sewed it on myself. It helps me to not forget about him, or how cowardly I was.”
“What’s the red part?”
“My sister.” Giyuu says. A sister --he had one of those. Or two, per se. “She was my older sister. She died on her wedding night. Killed by her fiance who had been turned into a demon. I tried to tell the village but… no one believed me. They thought I was fucking insane!”
Giyuu slams his fist onto the table, tears now streaming down his face and before Sanemi can think, he’s bolting out of his own seat and pulling Giyuu into his arms, cradling his head with soft hands as he cries softly.
It’s a side he’s never seen from the man before. Giyuu wasn’t an emotional person, in fact, he usually masked his emotions behind the same unamused disposition. Sanemi could relate, except he hid his pain and suffering behind crazed smiles and crude words.
“I should have died those nights…” Giyuu says, gritting his teeth. “But I didn’t. And I shouldn’t be here either. I… I don’t even remember how I became a Hashira, I fluked my way up the ranks.”
“Enough.” Sanemi pets his hair, fingers carding through raven locks. His hair is soft, but relatively tangled from days of it being neglected. “You’re going to wear yourself dry.”
“Sorry.” Giyuu apologizes weakly.
“Don’t.” Sanemi says, “You’re not a damn fraud. You’re worth just as much of any of us in the Hashira position.”
“Don’t be silly.” Giyuu looks up at him, “I signed myself up for seppuku so Nezuko could fuck up and I’d kill myself.”
It’s the cold, hard truth, and Sanemi visibly and audibly winces.
“It’s a good thing she hasn’t then, yes?”
Giyuu blinks. Sanemi chuckles.
“You’re strong. I’ve seen you fight.”
Giyuu blushes. Sanemi’s starting to think the rumors are true, or he’s just not used to the praise. Possibly both. Sanemi grips his biceps with reassuring strength, grounding him as he wipes his tears.
“Thank you. That’s uncharacteristically kind of you.”
“Hey! I can be nice when I want to.” Sanemi gripes, crossing his arms. “Now I regret coming here to talk some sense into your ass.”
“Don’t. It was nice of you.”
Sanemi blushes and scratches his chin. He stands up to collect his sword and puts back on his shoes when Tomioka speaks again.
“Shinazugawa.” He asks as Sanemi’s sliding open the door. He turns back, “Yes?”
“Do you like ohagi?”