Love, Giyuu
shinazugawa sanemi/tomioka giyuu
part 1 | part 2 (end)
tags: angst, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, letter writing as plot device, referenced self-worth issues and self-harm (very light), enemies(?) to friends to lovers, post-canon, canon divergence.
read now on ao3
Candlelight cast a soft glow against white hair. The low lighting created a fuzzy outline which made the person before him seem like a figment of Giyuu’s imagination. There was a possibility he was. Shinazugawa looked the same, yet everything about him was completely different. Once storm-filled eyes were now devoid of anger. A different type of hunger filled them. The calloused hands gripping the doorframe bore no fresh scars. And when that low, rumbling voice of his spoke, the sound reverberated up Giyuu’s spine. Giyuu forgot how to breathe. “It’s you.”
It had been years since they’ve seen one another, even longer since they’ve spoken. He knew, logically, that a stranger stood before him. That not a single word was sent in exchange for the thousands Giyuu gave him. He knew that, and yet…
“Have you been well?” The words came out quiet, fragile.
Shinazugawa averted his gaze for a moment, shrugging. A weak smile was all he managed.
Giyuu felt an overwhelming need to touch him. His mind supplied the scandalous idea of holding him, not fuelled by familiarity but by the distinct lack of it. To reach out and feel skin against his own, to find it solid. Giyuu swept that thought away. The desire could not be labelled.
Instead, Giyuu grabbed at his own haori and tried to be satisfied with the touch of cloth.
A long time ago, the Young Master Ubuyashiki had said, “I want you to write to Sanemi. I think it would be helpful for you to stay in touch. It will help him too, I believe, from getting lost.”
Giyuu did not understand what he meant. Shinazugawa had marvelously sharp directional instincts. What’s more, Giyuu was sure Shinazugawa hated him. With the dissolution of the Demon Slayer Corps, gone was the only reason for them to interact. Reasonable as his protests may be, Giyuu was unable to deny the young boy. So, he started drafting letters.
It began like all his other habits – practiced, perfunctory. Static reports spiralled into pages of thoughts, until Giyuu was unsure whether he was writing reflections about his life or whether he lived life in hopes of telling Shinazugawa about it.
More than once a day would Giyuu catch himself trying to freeze a moment in time as he pondered the right words to describe it later. Now that Shinazugawa was here, really here, Giyuu was quite speechless.
Shinazugawa spared him from having to speak first. “I hear you’re getting married.”
Giyuu did not think the news would draw Shinazugawa to finally come to his estate. Even if he had such foresight, Giyuu thinks he would have written to him anyway.
“Is that why you are here? To…” Giyuu dared not be presumptuous. “Help?”
Shinazugawa hunched at the doorway, shadows obscuring his eyes. Even if Giyuu could see better, he was sure the man’s expression would be unreadable. For the longest time, Shinazugawa had been no more than a name on a page, a silent confidante. Giyuu did not know what to do with all of him here, now.
Eventually, Shinazugawa lifted his head. “Yeah. To help.”
Propriety at last came to mind. Giyuu stepped aside at once. “Pardon my manners. Come in.”
Shinazugawa moved like the ground would give away at any moment. With a shaky step, he crossed the threshold into Giyuu’s home.
A futon was set up in the spare room. There was little to unpack. Shinazugawa only had two large bags with him. A larger one for necessities while the other was bound up tightly. The contents must have been important.
“Giyuu, I-” Shinazugawa winced. “Sorry, I mean, Tomioka. Do you have a spare chest I can organize this stuff in?”
From the beaten exterior, it seemed Sanemi carried his entire life in those two bags. As Giyuu brought over a storage box, he said, “You can call me Giyuu. I don’t mind.”
Whatever face Shinazugawa made, he did so with his back turned to Giyuu. He produced a large stack of something wrapped in paper. “Call me Sanemi, then.”
Worded like a command, spoken like an offer. One that Giyuu took. “Well then, Sanemi…” Scarred hands tightened their grip around the parcel, crinkling the paper. Giyuu suddenly felt like he was intruding. “Goodnight.”
The sound of the door being closed masked two identical sighs on either side of the wall. Giyuu laid awake that night, conscious of every creak coming from the next room over. He wondered if this night was a fluke, if he’d wake and Sanemi would vanish along with the midnight winds.
He did not.
-
It frightened him, how easy it was to talk with Sanemi.
Giyuu was worried he came across as awkward now that he lacked the benefit of sitting down and thinking before expressing himself. Worse, he worried that he would run out of things to say and be condemned to the other form of awkwardness known as silence.
Once he saw Sanemi in the morning light though, sunlight illuminating his pale white haori such that he glowed, all those worries melted away.
Giyuu could say, “I enjoyed breakfast this morning,” or “I want to go into town,” without spending a drop of ink on the thought.
Even more frightening, Sanemi responded. Every bit as confident and opinionated as Giyuu expected him to be. “The fish was kinda dry. Skip the shopping tomorrow, it’ll be fresher by next Thursday,” or, “You need to dust this room more.”
Though conversation flowed on the surface, deeper subjects remained unspoken of. Why now, after so long, did Sanemi decide to come see him? Did Sanemi really read all the letters Giyuu wrote to him? What has he been doing for all these years?
Part of this mental barrier came in part because, for some unknown reason, Sanemi did not want Giyuu to know that he’s been visiting the nearby town. It was clear, from how Sanemi would overcorrect himself or say too much on accident, that he was familiar with the community next to the estate. It was made all the more painfully obvious because Sanemi declined to accompany Giyuu on each visit into town.
Giyuu couldn’t figure out why. After all, he’s known that Sanemi had been visiting the village for years now.
Early on in their one-sided correspondence, Giyuu recalled that Sanemi enjoyed eating ohagi. He just so happened to pass by a shop in town specializing in the dessert and started visiting the old woman who owned it with regularity.
He didn’t even like ohagi that much but he found himself craving it whenever he’d write to Sanemi. It did not take long to figure out who the “ruggedly charming and strong swordsman with scary eyes” was that the shopkeeper kept raving about. Once he did, Giyuu continued to buy ohagi, staying long enough to hear what this mysterious, nomadic swordsman was up to in town.
Usually it was doing handiwork or moving boxes. Other times balancing out teams when the children would go out to play. In all cases, adding a bit of spontaneity and intrigue to the otherwise run-of-the-mill town. The townspeople liked to make certain remarks or teasing comments at anything new. Giyuu was treated in a similar matter, when he first arrived.
Perhaps Giyuu didn’t ask because he didn’t want to admit to keeping tabs on Sanemi in such a manner. Not to mention, he did not want to know how people would react if they were seen together. There was a good chance they’d expose Giyuu for being privy to Sanemi’s private affairs.
That would not do. If Sanemi wanted Giyuu to know about his life, he would have written back.
“Where do you want this?” Sanemi lifted two giant vases containing flowers to be planted outside. Today, the two were out rearranging Giyuu’s garden. He figured if he was going to welcome a new companion to his estate, he ought to make it more lively. He’d lived rather minimally, up until now.
Giyuu pointed to the plots he’d prepared by his fish pond. “Over there is fine. You can take a break once you’ve done so.”
The arrangements would have gone by faster, if Giyuu still had both hands to work with. There were plenty of offers to have someone come help him on a permanent basis, all of which Giyuu declined. He would not enjoy having someone in his space that way. Nor would he enjoy feeling so dependent. He had gotten used to this post-battle body of his and managed just fine.
Still, having Sanemi around to help with the chores was refreshing. It didn’t make Giyuu feel like he was some kind of stationary general giving orders. The rhythm was natural, like back when they used to spar.
As an added bonus, Sanemi was– for some inexplicable reason– really good at household chores.
“So-” Sanemi’s voice snapped Giyuu back to the present- “you made any other arrangements or have you just started planning?”
Giyuu forgot what they were talking about before. “For the flower garden?”
Sanemi squinted at him. “Your wedding?”
Oh, right. Giyuu provided a noncommittal answer, instead focusing on getting the tray of drinks he’d prepared to the outside deck. Strange that before, the idea of getting married was all Giyuu could think about. Yet once Sanemi started staying with him, he kept finding reasons to put off the preparations. “I made tea.”
Sanemi walked over and chugged the whole thing without so much as blowing on it. Good thing Giyuu brought the teapot out too.
Giyuu sat down by the deck overlooking his garden. Thanks to Sanemi’s hard work, it was coming along nicely. His helper stood around, unsure of what to do with idle hands, until Giyuu patted the space beside him. Instead of obliging, Sanemi leaned against a support beam.
They conversed only to fill the air. Silence risked drawing attention to just how many things were unsaid between them.
“First fish, now flowers, huh?”
“I’m still trying to figure out what I like.” It was difficult for Giyuu to treat hobbies as the noncommittal pastimes they were intended to be. “Slowing down is difficult.”
“Yeah, it is.” Sanemi leaned back to look at the sky. “I don’t know how we’ve been doing it for so long.”
“One day we will have spent more time slowing down than we ever have spent slaying demons,” Giyuu mused. It was meant to be an offhand comment, but it struck something in Sanemi.
He caught the reflection of the clouds above in Sanemi’s eyes. “Funny idea, isn’t it? To spend more of your life not having a purpose than having one.”
Giyuu wished he knew what the right words were. In all their time knowing each other, even if they weren’t close, Giyuu had never seen Sanemi so defeated before. It was disheartening.
“Sorry, that was…” Sanemi’s laugh was dry. “It’s good weather for planting chrysanthemums. Could use them for brewing tea too.”
Back to the mundane conversations. Giyuu remembered speaking to Sanemi like this, very early on in his correspondence. He did not enjoy the feeling of distance, but nor did he have the right to ask for closeness. So they continued to exchange words.
That’s all it felt like, a mere exchange.
When did he hope to have the ceremony? Sometime next spring, after the last of winter’s chill.
Did he plan to invite a lot of people? Not particularly, though it would depend on his partner’s preferences too.
Did he think he would enjoy married life? He thinks so, maybe.
“Maybe?” Sanemi pushed back for once instead of simply accepting the answer.
Sanemi looked like he wanted to ask more but Giyuu could never keep up small talk for long. Though Sanemi was only here to help with the wedding, Giyuu did not enjoy talking to him about it. He knew it was illogical, but Sanemi made it all feel too real. Too forward thinking, when what Giyuu most wanted was a glimpse into Sanemi’s past.
“Sanemi, tell me about something. Anything.” No, that wasn’t right. They had been talking about anything. Giyuu wanted more.
Sanemi could sense so. With a defeated sigh, he sat down beside Giyuu. “Alright. Ask away.”
That was simpler than Giyuu had anticipated.
It should not have been surprising that Sanemi mellowed out over the years, except Giyuu could never quite get the spitfire image of the Sanemi he knew out of his head. He never would have gotten a straightforward answer out of that Sanemi.
Best not to squander a chance to hear from the one sitting beside him. “What have you been doing all these years?”
“Travelling, mostly. Sometimes working. I don’t stay anywhere too long.”
“Did you ever visit anyone else?”
“No. I never found the time.”
Yet you found the time for me? Giyuu did not ask. “My letters. Did you read them?”
“Every single one.”
The honesty of that answer surprised them both. Sanemi seemed to realize what he’d just said and looked away from Giyuu towards the trees. Giyuu, on the other hand, could not stop looking at Sanemi.
It was one thing to write all those letters to Sanemi. It was another to have the recipient acknowledge all of them at once. Sanemi didn’t even elaborate beyond the confirmation, so why did Giyuu feel so… embarrassed?
He held his teacup up to his cheek and found they were the same temperature. Giyuu cleared his throat. “If you’ve spent all this time travelling, you must have been to many places. Is there anywhere you haven’t gone yet?”
It was this question that caught Sanemi by genuine surprise. He did not answer for a long time. “There is one town I never managed to get to. I don’t know when I’ll be able to go.”
Vague on purpose. Another wall. Giyuu wondered if there was a bad memory associated with the town that kept Sanemi away. But since he still wanted to go, perhaps there was still hope yet. “I’d like to come with you, when you do go.”
“When I go,” Sanemi echoed, eyes drifting somewhere far off. Then, a sad smile. “That would be nice.”
The quiet could have stretched forever, if they let it.
Eventually, one of them said something or the other. Giyuu got up, Sanemi followed. Several pots of flowers were moved here and there. They went back inside and ate dinner together.
Something gave way that afternoon, Giyuu thought to himself as he looked at Sanemi across the dinner table. His house guest still ate in a hurried manner, like he needed to be ready at any moment to get up and leave.
Slowing down is difficult.
Instead of heading right to sleep, though, Sanemi stayed to chat with Giyuu even after all the dishes were cleaned and dried. At some point Giyuu must have smiled because Sanemi would not stop staring at his mouth. Upon getting caught, he saw Sanemi’s lips slowly curving upward in what could only have been a mirrored imitation.
They said nothing about it.
When Giyuu went to bed that night, he replayed the sound of Sanemi’s voice in his head. It was not even about the words, for none could be made out. Moreso that there was finally a sound to answer the calls Giyuu had been making into the wind. Whatever the reason, Giyuu closed his eyes and let the memory of Sanemi’s soothing tenor lull him to a dreamless rest.
-
They passed autumn and winter in this comfortable routine. Get up, make meals together, do housework, talk a bit, and the day would be over. Certain habits stuck out to Giyuu.
Sanemi always got up a few minutes before Giyuu did. He didn’t notice at first, it was such a trivial detail, but Giyuu couldn’t recall the last time he saw the kitchen empty in the morning.
Sanemi also liked to pick up after Giyuu. Not that Giyuu was a messy person, not at all, but Sanemi always knew when he was “done” using something and would put it back in its rightful place.
Most recently, Giyuu noticed that Sanemi preferred keeping to Giyuu’s right side. The same side Giyuu coincidentally lacked an arm. He was certain this was unintentional, for Sanemi’s habits manifested too naturally to be forced.
Yet, something told Giyuu these habits didn’t exist until they started living together.
“You’re always first to start cooking in the kitchen, even though it does not seem like you particularly enjoy eating.” Giyuu remarked one day over dinner.
Sanemi ate like it was still a mere necessity, even now as he set down his bowl of plain rice. “Hard to like food as much as you.” Not so much an explanation as it was a diversion.
Giyuu refused to take the bait. “We can add more sugar to the food if you want. I know you prefer sweets.” Sanemi then gave him the strangest look, which lingered so long that Giyuu began to doubt his statement. “Don’t you?”
“I do,” Sanemi admitted, and then averted his eyes. “I just didn’t think you noticed.”
Now that Giyuu took as a borderline insult. “Of course I notice. I can only go off my observations and assumptions since you’re so hesitant to volunteer information about yourself.”
Giyuu knew he was being greedy. His housemate had been opening up gradually, a pace one might even call reasonable, but each drop of information did nothing to satiate Giyuu’s curiosity.
Sanemi was the type of person he couldn’t help but wonder about.
All the confidence and screaming may have worked at scaring the other Corps members away but Giyuu was never phased. He lingered, and wondered.
Back then, Giyuu did not know how to express his desire for understanding with words.
Whenever they used to spar, Sanemi always ended up snapping at Giyuu for staring too intently or looking too arrogant. Really, Giyuu was trying to verbalize the giant question mark he saw whenever he looked at Sanemi. Despite his apparent rudeness, Giyuu never drove Sanemi away for long. Their sparring sessions were the longest, and the ones Giyuu looked forward to the most.
One time, Giyuu came close to figuring out what he wanted to say. It was the day after he awoke from his coma. His legs were still getting used to solid ground as he limped around Butterfly Mansion. On his third turn, he noticed the door to Sanemi’s room was ajar.
He hadn’t meant to pry. It was coincidental that Giyuu stumbled a bit right near the gap which looked into the room. Sanemi was sitting upright in his bed, staring at a beetle on the windowsill. He had looked at the creature with a fondness Giyuu never saw before.
It reminded him of when he used to train in the forest. He once thought back to that time with sorrow but lately it was easier to recall how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, and the happiness he felt running through the dirt paths.
There was a strange flutter in Giyuu’s stomach and his first real question came to mind: Do you like beetles?
Giyuu never got the chance to ask.
A nurse assumed he had fallen and quickly escorted him away.
In the present, Sanemi continued to pick at his food. “There’s not much to know about me.”
“That’s not true.” Do you like beetles? Do you like beetles? “I used to think I was not very interesting but I’ve learned there’s something of value in every person.”
Sanemi scoffed. “You sound like Tanjiro.”
“I’m glad you haven’t forgotten him. I think he’d like to see you again too.”
“He shouldn’t hold his breath.” Sanemi said it in a way which made it seem like he was not planning to stay for much longer. Giyuu’s heart sank, but Sanemi must have realized this because he quickly added, “Not that I’m goin’ anywhere before I help you get settled.”
It somehow always turned to the topic of Giyuu’s inevitable nuptials. He knew it was the only reason why Sanemi was staying with him, yet the topic began to sour all their conversations.
Giyuu stood up and began clearing away the dishes.
Sanemi was quick to pick up on the shift in mood. “Wait, Giyuu. Leave ‘em there I can clean it up.”
“I can do perfectly well on my own.”
“Well sure you can but-” Sanemi grabbed a cup out of Giyuu’s hands. Quick, responsive, like when they used to clash their wooden swords- “You don’t have to. I like helping you.”
“You do?”
“I like the chores, okay?” Sanemi made Giyuu sit down as he cleaned. “I like things that keep me busy. You’re the one who wrote to me about it in the first place.”
Sanemi caught himself before he could admit to anything too earnest.
His expression made Giyuu laugh, a sound so foreign that Sanemi nearly dropped a plate.
“Sorry.” Giyuu didn’t know what he was apologizing for.
“D-don’t be. It’s…” The tips of Sanemi’s ears flushed, and he ushered Giyuu out of his own kitchen. An occurrence that was growing more common as the weeks went by.
Sanemi liked ohagi, and chores, and maybe beetles.
Little by little, the question marks will disappear and Giyuu might get a glimpse of Sanemi’s whole self.
Until then, he counted these little victories and wondered what else Sanemi might like.
-
For new year’s they decided to travel to the one town Sanemi never got to.
It was a suggestion Giyuu made casually, but not lightly. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Sanemi had said that day in the garden. The way he looked so far into the distance like the town was right there. Sanemi wore the same face looking out at the snow under the dim light last week. And again two nights ago, when Giyuu told him he was sending a letter off to Tanjiro and Nezuko.
He didn’t expect Sanemi to agree, not right away. When Giyuu asked, though, Sanemi waited only a minute or so before replying in a quiet voice, “Alright.”
It was not a particularly long journey. They left before dawn, an icy frost covering the grass and the trees as they walked side by side. Their travels were mostly silent, a kind Giyuu did not want to disturb.
Sometimes Sanemi would stop in the middle of the road, looking like he wanted to turn around and forget the whole thing. Other times, Giyuu caught them drifting towards a detour. Each time, Sanemi would catch Giyuu’s eyes and find his footing again.
Giyuu didn’t even realize they’d arrived. They were unpacking in what he assumed was another nameless inn en route when Sanemi said, “We’re here.”
Giyuu almost didn’t hear it. He paused his unpacking to look out the window. The town was much like any other. Unremarkable, even. “How do you feel?”
Sanemi sat at the foot of his bed. “I don’t know. I haven’t been home in so long.”
So this was what it was, a homecoming.
Sanemi’s strange aversion suddenly made sense. A dull ache settled in Giyuu’s heart. Home, but they were staying at a house for guests. Home, but the streets greeted them like strangers. Home, in name only.
Giyuu didn’t dare insult Sanemi by asking whether he had anyone to stop in on. Instead, he asked where they should go for lunch. After eating came the part where they wandered around for the rest of the day. Sanemi walked ahead and Giyuu trailed a few steps behind. Sanemi’s steps were intentionally aimless, like he walked solely to figure out how each step made him feel.
Giyuu could not tell if they’d passed by Sanemi’s old home, his favorite stores, or any such landmark. Their path weaved in and out of streets until Sanemi finally came to a stop at the town’s perimeter. He found a large boulder by some trees and sat, watching the sun set over unfamiliar wooden buildings.
For the first time in hours, Sanemi spoke. “Did you ever torture yourself like this too?”
It took a moment for Giyuu to realize what he’d meant. “Only once, when I was sure no one would remember me.”
“And did they?”
Giyuu shook his head. “I left when I was very young, there would be no reason to. Even when I lived there, my family only consisted of one other person.”
“Your sister, right?” Sanemi recalled. “Tsutako.”
Giyuu must have looked shellshocked, for Sanemi explained, “You wrote to me about her. Bet you haven’t heard anyone say her name out loud in a while.”
Giyuu couldn’t do anything but nod.
Sanemi continued, “It sucks to be the only one left who remembers.”
Not anymore, Giyuu thought, because Sanemi had just said her name. Hearing it again stirred up emotions Giyuu thought he’d long stilled. His eyes stung like he was the same pitiful boy crying out for his sister all over again. Perhaps he never stopped being that boy.
“I don’t know how I’m so comfortable talking to you.” Giyuu admitted. Sanemi looked confused, about to protest, but Giyuu stopped him. “It makes sense for you to be comfortable with me. You’ve read practically every thought I’ve had for the last five years. I don’t know anything about you and yet, why does it still feel like I do?”
Sanemi let the question linger unanswered. In the distance, a group of small children ran around kicking a ball. A wistful smile graced Sanemi’s features. “I had six siblings. I was the oldest.”
Giyuu knew of one who had passed, Genya, and only because he used to be Tanjiro’s friend. His mind immediately went to Sabito, and suddenly it felt like he could no longer hold his head up.
“Will you tell me their names?”
Sanemi tried but after the first syllable, his voice cracked. He cupped his hand against his mouth to keep the broken pieces from spilling out. Even if he could be comforted, Sanemi looked like he would shatter at the slightest touch. He closed his eyes and tried to get his breathing under control.
When he next opened them, Giyuu was kneeling on the ground. A pile of stones were gathered in his lap, small and smooth. Giyuu didn’t look up as he arranged the rocks in a semi-circle. Six small rocks encircling the one Sanemi sat on.
“One day you’ll be able to say their names again. Until then, this is to remember them by.” Giyuu had planted the same memorial stone for his sister in the backyard of the house where they used to live.
Sanemi grabbed another rock from the pile and set it on the ground in front of all the others. “My mother.” His hand stayed on the rock, holding it with the same care and kindness she must have held him with back then.
With the arrangement done, Giyuu turned his back to Sanemi and the rocks. He did not know if Sanemi wanted to be seen grieving.
It began to snow.
Each breathy exhale a reminder of just how cold it was.
Giyuu sat with his knees tucked to his chest and watched as the lights slowly came on throughout the town. He didn’t turn around again until he felt Sanemi elbow his back.
“I thought now that it’s all over that it would be easier, but it isn’t. How can we ever bear the grief?” Spoken like it came directly from Giyuu, as if Sanemi was quoting him. He was, Giyuu realized, quoting him. “I don’t think I have been very well.”
“I don’t even remember how long ago I wrote that,” Giyuu said. He looked at the stones, then to Sanemi. “But I think I have some sort of an answer.”
“Yeah?”
Giyuu nodded before placing a gentle hand on Sanemi’s shoulder. “It’s easier when you’re not alone.”
They helped each other up, dusting snowflakes off their coats and hair. When they got back to the inn, the light snow turned into a flurry. By morning, the whole town was covered in white. They visited the rocks one more time to dig them out of the snow.
“I’ll visit again.” Sanemi whispered, and Giyuu pretended not to hear. “It won’t take so long next time. I promise.”
-
On the last night of winter, Giyuu had a nightmare. That in itself was not the problem. Nightmares were an unfortunate normalcy in Giyuu’s life and had been since he was young. What plagued him that night was no haunted memory or blood-soaked history, rather, a fiction.
In his dream, Sanemi had not survived. It was not even a scenario where he saw Sanemi get slain in battle or eaten by demons. He did not even see Sanemi in his dream. It was one where Giyuu simply knew. A world much like the world now, except Sanemi was no longer there in it. A dream where Giyuu lived in an empty house, with a hollow feeling in his heart.
He tried to will himself back to sleep, treating it the same as all the other nightmares.
But he found that once his eyes were open he could not get them to shut again. His heart refused to quiet. Before he knew it, his feet were taking him to the guest room and his hands were knocking on the door.
There was still light emanating from inside, so at least Sanemi was not yet asleep.
“Giyuu?” Sanemi was not sleeping at all. There were papers scattered across the table and floor, alongside pen and ink. “What’s wrong?”
“I just…” Needed to see you. “Wanted to see if you needed anything. Before bed.”
Sanemi blinked. “Not since the last time you asked a few hours ago.”
Were he in better condition, Giyuu could have come up with a more tactful excuse. But the nightmare had shaken him more than he realized. Sanemi must have sensed it too, as he brought Giyuu inside and had him sit down near the candlelight.
“Another nightmare.” Sanemi did not phrase it like a question.
Of course he knew. Even if Giyuu did not verbally confirm it, the dreadful look in his eyes would have.
It was a time mixed between night and morning which made everything, including Giyuu, feel unmoored. Like walking down a step that isn’t there.
Sanemi did not ask about it, just grabbed a blanket and spread it around Giyuu’s shoulders. “You don’t have to go back to sleep.”
He didn’t. Instead, he watched Sanemi move slowly about the room, picking up various papers and sorting them into neat piles. His vision was bleary and the light was not strong, but Giyuu could make out the shape of his own handwriting.
Eventually, he asked, “What were you doing so late?”
Sound came slowly to Giyuu. He saw Sanemi thin his lips before moving them. “I’ve been trying to teach myself how to write.”
Giyuu picked up a paper near his foot; a letter he’d written to Sanemi. “My letters.”
“I use them as a reference. They’re easy to read. You’re very neat.”
“This was from three years ago.” Giyuu set the paper back on the floor and reached for another. “And so is this one. How many have you kept?”
Sanemi had been carrying his paper compilations to a chest in the corner. It was meant to be for storing clothes and other large items but Giyuu saw paper filled to the top from all the way across the room.
Sanemi tucked the last letter away and shut the chest with a soft click. “All of them.”
He was pleasantly surprised at Sanemi’s sentimentality. Flattered, even. Giyuu drew the blanket closer around himself. Something in his chest hurt and would not go away until he soothed himself with breathing.
“It must have been heavy to carry all this time. You could have at least thrown out the boring ones.”
“What boring ones?” Sanemi should have been preparing to sleep. Instead, he lit another candle and sat down beside Giyuu.
“Now you’re being facetious.”
Sanemi chuckled. Giyuu didn’t get to hear him laugh often. Another strange consequence of this midnight morning.
Calmed from his nightmare, the edges of sleep began to settle in. All was still for a very long time. Giyuu watched through half-lidded eyes as the candlelight melted away. The duration of each blink grew longer and longer.
Only at the precipice of unconsciousness did Giyuu hear Sanemi whisper, “I want to write back next time.”
That made little sense to Giyuu. Why would you need to write back? I can tell you everything I want right here.
“I hope you keep writing to me, even after I’m gone.”
But I don’t want you to be gone.
“There’s no place for me here.”
Giyuu wanted to tell him that he was wrong. The feeling behind his words was all wrong. He tried to sit up properly to tell Sanemi just so, but his sleep-addled haze made it difficult to move. Instead, his head landed on Sanemi’s shoulder.
Soft fabric touched Giyuu’s cheek and he couldn’t help but lean into it. A light fragrance of flowers filled his senses and it was enough to make Giyuu feel like floating away. He reached out for something to ground him, and was met with Sanemi’s hand.
“Don’t go.” Giyuu mumbled. There was a rumbling, which indicated that Sanemi was speaking. Giyuu decided it did not matter what Sanemi said. Don’t go. He repeated, perhaps out loud, perhaps only in his head, again and again to himself as the soft fabric of Sanemi’s collar against his nose pulled Giyuu into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Giyuu woke up alone on the first morning of spring, in a bed that was not his own, surrounded by the shadow of another’s warmth and the lingering scent of water lilies.
-
Giyuu was getting married.
A fact he had to keep reminding himself of.
A fact so omnipresent that it became easy to ignore the longer time went on. Fading into the background like the air itself.
Warmer weather meant longer strolls through the market as Giyuu picked up groceries and exchanged pleasantries with the local townsfolk. Sanemi was still keeping to the house, never taking a step beyond the estate’s boundary lines.
They were making good progress on preparations for incoming matrimony. The garden was complete, clothes were picked out, a large banquet menu decided. Sanemi proved himself steadfast at ticking all the necessary boxes during times when Giyuu himself forgot what they were working towards.
Lately, Giyuu wished he could forget about the whole affair.
He was lost in this very thought when one of the fruit vendors handed him a set of documents. “Sorry it took so long, but I made inquiries like you asked.”
Giyuu thumbed through the papers. They were all names of women. “These are-”
“-candidates, for your future spouse! Hopefully one of them will be the lucky lady, eh?”
He replied, but his voice felt not his own. “Of course. Thank you.”
When Giyuu arrived back home, he shoved the documents in an unmarked drawer and did not think about them again.
When Sanemi asked if there was anything good at the market, Giyuu could not think of anything to say. Sanemi seemed displeased, but did not push.
Two weeks later, Sanemi found the papers.
Within three days, they stopped speaking to each other.
It was not intentional, at least, not on Giyuu’s part. Most days, he did not even remember to think. His movements were mechanical and his speech stifled. Sanemi continued to wash the dishes and sweep the floors. He did not smile so much anymore. He was not happy, and Giyuu did not know why.
Giyuu did not feel happy, and he did not know why.
It took another week before Sanemi spoke to Giyuu again. “They’re here.”
“Who?” Giyuu was sitting outside, having grown weary of the silent rooms.
“Your bridal candidates. I took the liberty of arranging your interviews.” Sanemi handed over the documents, crumpled edges and all, to Giyuu’s uneager hands.
“Thank you,” Giyuu lied. “I suppose I’ll see them in one of the larger rooms.”
He so wished for Sanemi to speak or even give a hint of emotion as to what the man might have been feeling. Giyuu searched those lilac eyes he’d come to know so well over the past few months. He found nothing but walls.
Sanemi turned, sharp and formal, and went back in without a word.
Giyuu sat in a large room with a table too small to comfortably fill the space. He set the stack of documents before him, which contained detailed profiles of several accomplished young ladies. He should have prepared a pot of tea or snacks. A more diligent man would have even prepared some kind of gift for each candidate.
All that filled the room was himself and a single, low table.
Sanemi walked in leading a young woman. She smiled prettily and bowed. Giyuu motioned for her to sit, and she would oblige. They would speak and Giyuu would not see Sanemi again until he brought in the next young woman.
The ladies were all polite and kind.
From an objective viewpoint, any one of them would have made an ideal wife. They were all good at carrying the conversation and none of them made Giyuu feel uncomfortable. He realized after the fourth interview that all his candidates were oddly suitable. Not one could Giyuu rule out as particularly incompatible.
Sanemi must have gone through the list once already, and only invited those he thought Giyuu would get along with.
He spent more time dwelling on that thought than he should have.
Giyuu waited for someone to walk in that would shake him from his stupor. To take away the terrible melancholy that has set over his heart.
He did his best to get to know each woman. They spoke with him earnestly and all had nice things to say. They were talented, beautiful, and sweet. Some knew how to play instruments. Others cooked well. Many of them had scholarly pursuits and led interesting lives.
Without fail, after each interview, Giyuu could not recall the face of who he had just spoken with.
The day dragged on. He was thankful after his final guest informed him that she was the last person waiting for him. When she shut the door, Giyuu let out a long sigh.
He wished to sleep.
Thankfully, when the door opened again, it was just Sanemi. He entered with a tray of tea and a familiar attitude. It was like the past few weeks never happened, and the stones in Giyuu’s stomach fell away. “I knew you’d be tired.”
“You’d be correct.” Giyuu felt himself relax as he poured all his anxiety away into two cups. “I don’t think I’d be able to greet any more guests for at least three months.”
Sanemi pretended to laugh. Though the tea was steaming and ready, he did not sit. Giyuu tried to make conversation like they used to and despite responding like normal there was a flightiness to Sanemi. He would look away, fidget with his hands, or give a sudden turn.
Giyuu could only sip quietly at his tea, wondering how to make it alright again.
Sanemi was still standing when he asked, “Have you decided?”
If a particular name or face was supposed to leap out in his mind, none did so. “No.”
He hated to waste Sanemi’s time. On a functional level, Giyuu could have chosen any of the candidates to keep him company. That was what he intended when he began this process. He supposed part of the dissatisfaction stemmed from the small hope, naive as it may have been, to simply know the person he was to marry when he saw them. To feel at ease and at home.
That sort of feeling may only come after getting to truly know someone, he feared.
His answer causes something to snap in Sanemi, who took several steps forward. “There’s still one candidate left.”
Giyuu looked up, confused. “Who?”
Sanemi got on his knees, and bowed deeply. “I have nothing to offer you. I have no skills, no prospects, and no family. Everything I own is what I carried here with me. I should probably lie and talk myself up to even have a chance at this, but I respect you too much to disguise my faults. You know them well. I am brash and loud. Irritable and undignified. I don’t have anything of value to give you.
Still, even understanding all the reasons why I am a terrible match for you, why I could never be yours… I can’t help but love you. I think, even after all this is over, I will always love you. And that is why I kneel in front of you now, making a complete embarrassment out of myself, because love has made me a discourteous fool. One who, despite knowing better, still asks that you consider these horribly selfish feelings of mine that wish more than anything to live a life with you.”
Sanemi bowed once more and left the room without so much as a glance towards Giyuu.
All the confused and incomprehensible feelings Giyuu had built up burst like a heavy rain cloud, and clarity washed over him.
I can’t help but love you.
A sudden jolt of energy swept through Giyuu’s veins. He tried to take a step but the ferocity of his emotions made him wobble. A strangled sound escaped him as he fell onto his knees.
I will always love you.
Giyuu curled in on himself, clutching at his chest as if it would dull the overwhelming sensations. Equal parts happy and hurting. Why hadn’t Sanemi said something? Why hadn’t Giyuu realized sooner? How, after all the time they’ve spent together and even the time apart, could Sanemi ever think he was unworthy?
Even if he was capable of speaking, none could answer but the empty room.
Sanemi loved him, yet he walked away.
In the silence, Giyuu cries.
-
He found Sanemi sitting by the fish pond, gazing at the moon through the translucent waters. Little bubbles broke the serene surface as koi fish glided along underneath. A resigned sadness enveloped Sanemi. He wore the pain like an old overcoat, the way it drew down his shoulders.
Giyuu’s eyes were still warm and, were he to find his reflection, undoubtedly red too. He was not in the proper state to see anyone. But he had kept Sanemi waiting long enough.
The sky was at a point where purple bled into deep blue, and the twinkle of stars began to peek out. Giyuu tried to approach carefully but, as ever, Sanemi caught on. Giyuu was still a few steps away when Sanemi’s voice broke through the night.
“I shouldn’t have put you in that position. Giyuu, I’m so-”
“No!” Giyuu shouted. He never shouted, but for Sanemi he would do any number of unheard things. “If you apologize to me I’ll never forgive you.”
That seemed to give Sanemi enough pause for Giyuu to reach his side. He kneeled down and tried to catch Sanemi’s eyes, but he only continued staring at the pond water.
Eyes glazed over in a trancelike state.
Giyuu figured that anything he said would not fully reach Sanemi.
Start small, Tanjiro once told him, when he was still adjusting to civilian life, even little things like how they’re doing or what the weather is like can make it easier to start talking to people.
The advice was meant to make it easier for Giyuu to converse with those in town. If nothing else would work on Sanemi, then Giyuu would start small.
“There’s a woman who makes ohagi in town,” he began. He saw a flicker– recognition, or perhaps nerves– cross Sanemi’s eyes. “I started visiting her because I remembered you liked ohagi. She’d tell me stories about a lone swordsman who sometimes visited our town. He’s always lending someone a helping hand but he never stays long. I don’t know if he realizes it, but everyone’s quite fond of him.”
Giyuu reached over and placed his hand atop Sanemi’s. This worked at getting his attention. “I am also quite fond of him.”
Their eyes met, and Giyuu made a silent promise to never be apart again.
“You knew I was coming here this whole time and you aren’t… upset with me?” It was faint, but Giyuu heard the slightest bit of hope in Sanemi’s voice.
He shook his head. “You weren’t ready to see me. I would never hold that against you.”
“I wanted to. I wanted to, so badly. I just…” Sanemi trailed off. His hand trembled.
“You don’t have to explain.” If their time together has taught Giyuu anything, it was that the shared understanding between them ran deeper than any distance in space or time. “You can just be.”
“I’m not used to living in a world where I get to have things.”
This feeling Giyuu understood too. But this wasn’t the same world that took away their friends and loved ones. They had fought so hard precisely to make the world anew.
When it looked like Sanemi was about to turn away again, Giyuu pulled him close until they were forced to meet eye-to-eye.
“Sanemi, you are not selfish. You are not broken, and you are not worthless. You have been steadfast, a constant in my life that I cannot and will not lose. Even before you arrived here, I looked forward to writing to you every day. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize how much I needed you. I still need you. So when you came in and presented yourself like you were nothing, I couldn’t believe it.”
“I never wrote back to you.” Sanemi spoke like his inaction was some form of betrayal. He attempted to refute again in a small, weak voice. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you.” Giyuu spoke with such conviction; like it was a mere fact of life. “I know you.”
Giyuu drew ever-closer, not caring that tears once again filled his eyes. He let go of Sanemi’s hand to hold his face instead. And Sanemi, beautiful, wild-eyed Sanemi, could not look away.
“How could you ever think I wouldn’t love you?”
Before Sanemi could open his mouth, self-deprecation on the tip of his tongue, Giyuu foreclosed any shred of doubt. He leaned in, and kissed him.
There was a split second, driven by instinct, where it felt like Sanemi was going to push him off. But his resolve broke at once and Giyuu caught Sanemi in his embrace as the other melted against him.
Soft was not a word anyone used for Sanemi, yet it was all Giyuu could think as their lips met. Soft in the way Sanemi touched him. Soft were the strands of his hair as they brushed against Giyuu’s face. Soft because Sanemi cared that much about making sure Giyuu never again met harshness.
When they broke apart, Sanemi hid his face in Giyuu’s shoulder.
“Would you- I-” The words were disjointed, muffled against his haori, but Giyuu heard it all the same. “I need to hear you say it again, please.”
Giyuu leaned close, nearly wrapping himself over Sanemi as he whispered in his ear. “I love you, Sanemi. I’ll always love you.”
They stayed holding onto each other, feeling tremors the way a gentle wind shakes the first leaves of budding spring. The empty feeling that Giyuu spent his life tolerating vanished– and it left him lighter than air.
He was overcome with a need to see Sanemi’s face again, to make him smile. But even as Giyuu straightened himself, Sanemi’s face remained rooted to his shoulder.
It took a moment to realize that Sanemi was not so distraught anymore as he was… shy?
Giyuu touched his finger to Sanemi’s cheek and found that, despite leaning into his touch, Sanemi’s face turned ever further away.
He was. Sanemi was being shy.
It made Giyuu want to kiss him all the more.
“Sanemi?”
“Hmph?” Even his usual huffing and puffing now carried a boyish charm.
Giyuu’s face began to hurt. He didn’t know the last time he felt joy like this. It was a different kind of happiness. There was relief and elation, to be sure, yet having Sanemi to himself like this brought a sense of completeness. “Sanemi, will you look at me?”
He had been hiding for good reason. Giyuu had never seen Sanemi so flushed, even counting that one night the Hashira went out drinking. Though now exposed, Sanemi did not cower. He returned Giyuu’s gaze like a challenge.
Beyond the front, Giyuu saw his own longing staring back at him. He could forget his own name and still remember how Sanemi looked at that moment.
He wasn’t sure who leaned in first, but their lips touched again. Brief, this time, with a calmness that came from knowing it was neither the first nor the last.
They were barely apart again before Giyuu said, “I accept your proposal.”
Sanemi chuckled quietly. “You were the one interviewing.”
“Then, will you marry me?”
The words gave Sanemi such a start. He stumbled backwards onto his own hands, somehow still managing to be caught off guard. Giyuu tried to catch him but was equally unbalanced.
They fell, Giyuu landing atop Sanemi. The whole ordeal did nothing to make Sanemi any less flustered. Giyuu, however, waited expectantly for the one thing he wanted to hear most.
“I already told you-”
“I want to hear it again.” Giyuu took Sanemi’s own words and twisted it back at him. He supposed they always acted this way with each other. Two opposing forces that, in always clashing apart, somehow ended up cleaving together. “And I won’t repeat myself.”
Sanemi drew Giyuu close, speaking against his lips. “I will marry you.”
Of the many things illuminated that night– the blinking light of fireflies, the dazzle of a thousand stars, the shine of moonlight against clear waters– Giyuu was happiest looking at the brightest spot in his life. For the first time, he could see the years that lay beyond them. Waking together, living together, being together.
They would pay visits to old friends and masters together. They would get into arguments about what to have for dinner. They would smile and avoid nosey questions from the people in town. They’d share each bitter memory until it became bearable again and bask in the neverending promise made by their two lives entwined. All his love was right there before him.
And as they held each other that warm spring night, Giyuu was content to know that he’d never have to pen another word to Sanemi ever again.
