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Giyuu's hair is getting longer. The scraggy blue string he used before can't hold the thick locks like it used to. It's down to his waist, almost. Longer than Sanemi has ever seen it before. It suits.
He has to tie it up at the back of his head, now. A thick, red ribbon had been pulled from a box, tucked away with painted wooden fragments. Sanemi had watched Giyuu's face when he first drew it out, saw the subtle tilt of his eyes and corners of his mouth. It meant something, he knew. Knew from the way Giyuu did Nezuko's hair in the mornings, tying pink ribbon to the top of her braid, practiced. Knew from the way Sanemi used to do his own sisters hair.
The red ribbon was Tsutako's. It's also the only thing stong enough to hold the rats nest together with its new weight.
Giyuu ties his hair to the centre back of his head now, not the lower. Too much weight, he'd said, mumbling with sleep as Sanemi dragged his fingers through the tresses. It kept tipping his neck back.
It's distracting. Sanemi's sparring skill against the water hashira have lowered significantly. Watching the messy black tail swing is a form of hypnosis. His bangs are largely the same, but the longer pieces have grown out, been drawn back with the rest. It makes his eyes more clear, more captivating, and Sanemi is a willing prisoner.
It's a little pathetic, honestly. How much Sanemi thinks about a simple change in hairstyle. Or how much he thinks about Giyuu's quiet reassurance to Genya that first morning after their joint mission. How much he thinks of the story Genya had told him, about Giyuu rescuing him, telling him Sanemi loved him, carrying him for over two days on his back. How much he thinks about the way Tanjiro trusts Giyuu, implicitly, despite everything he's been through.
Watching how the people who cared about someone reacted to them could say a lot. With Giyuu, it says everything.
Urokodaki had told stories, the night before he left. He'd had the children as his captive audience, everyone from Genya to Nezuko, Inosuke to Tokito, Zenitsu to Kanoe. The demon mask gave nothing away, but the children had leaned closer regardless, desperate to gleam more from his words.
The first story was a typical demon slayers tale, the second about kitsune and spirits, but the third had been about Giyuu.
One night, he'd said, officers had marched their way up Mount Sagiri, looking for a missing child. Last seen at the train station. Urokodaki's hutt was the last house within a reasonable distance for a child to run. But when the officers had reached the hutt, they'd been out of breath from the climb, didn't bother to question him further. No way, they'd said, that a child could make it this far.
Urokodaki had asked where he'd come from, why they thought he ran. The officers had said the child had gone mad after the death of his family, was meant to get off at the stop to jump to the next train, go to the city where his uncle was waiting to admit him. At a hospital, they'd said, for people who'd lost their minds.
Admittedly, Sanemi had been enraptured. Leaning against the doorway, caught on the old man's words just as much as the kids. Giyuu had been behind him, in the other room, mending his haori. Close enough to hear, but he never cut in.
Urokodaki had continued, telling how, after the officers had left, he'd looked to the child in his care, a nine year old, and told him to stay put. It had been dark out, he told, snowing. If the officers didn't find the kid tonight, he'd freeze to death. So Urokodaki searched.
Half way up the mountain, higher than his hutt, higher than the officers dared to search, he'd found a fire. Dwindling, dying, burning through the fabric that had lit it. On one side sat a stream, on the other a small cove. There was a boy in the cove. Thick red ribbon wrapped around his hand, pressed against his mouth like he was trying to keep himself quiet. Big eyes blue. For a moment, Urokodaki said, he thought it was a demon. But demons didn't squeak when they saw you.
Giyuu had been nine, apparently. Sent away by concerned neighbours after he ranted about demons killing his family and couldn't be convinced otherwise. An uncle of unclear relation had been called for, had arranged for Giyuu to receive help from a hospital in the city he lived in. A family friend had taken him on the journey, a physician like his parents had been. He'd sedated Giyuu for the trip. So when he woke up, scared and confused in a place he didn't know, he'd stayed silent. Waited for the train to stop, waited to be picked up, carried onto the platform, before he bit down, hard, and ran the second he'd been dropped.
That's why Urokodaki though he was a demon, he said. The smell of human blood.
He'd been too scared to let Urokodaki get close, didn't trust him at all. Especially not with the demon mask. He'd made the old man take it off, prove he was human, but still wouldn't come out of hiding. It had been Sabito, his charge, to lure him out. He'd hunted Urokodaki in the snow, found him feeding the dying fire and whispering to the dark. Walked right up to Giyuu, uncaring of his fear, and sat down beside him. Offered him the haori off his back when he saw Giyuu had burned his own.
Eventually, Urokodaki said, Sabito had just grabbed Giyuu's hand and tugged him along. Pulling him down the mountain, Urokodaki trailing behind, careful not to get too close and frighten. They'd heard the story in the morning, and Urokodaki offered to train him as well.
Officially, Urokodaki had said, voice wry with humour, Giyuu was still missing. Presumed dead, even.
That had been the hooking point for the kids. Apparently enamoured with the idea. Asking why he didn't tell people he was fine now, clamouring over to where Giyuu was still sewing, asking if police had ever stopped him.
The answer was he didn't want to, and, no, not for that.
This had amused the kids for the rest of the evening, imagining scenarios where everyone Giyuu had once known found out the truth. Or imagining if they tried to send him to the asylum now. Or what Giyuu must have looked like, huddled in a dark cave with blood around his mouth. Tokito, dressed in his new cloud haori, presented the idea of a feral kitten after its first hunt. Which was apparently hilarious.
Sanemi was still stuck on the silence. Slotting it into place with everything he's come to know about the man he loves. Giyuu had been silent for hours, helpless to do anything but watch as his family was devoured. Screaming when he finally could but muted forcefully from the village that raised him. Silent because he had to be when he woke from being drugged. Silent when Urokodaki found him. Still silent, years later, even when he shouldn't be.
It made him feel a little sick, honestly. The thought of the man who never asked for help, even when he needed it most, once begging to be believed. Only to be labeled the boy who cried wolf. Never asking for it again. It still makes Sanemi feel sick, even as it all starts to make sense. How preventable it all was.
He still could've been a normal child. Was young enough to start again. All they had to was comfort him, even pretend to believe. It would have been better than sending him away, calling him crazy. Anything would've.
It's fine, Giyuu had said, late that night when Sanemi asked, intertwined in his bed. He understands. He wouldn't want to believe it either. It could have been worse, even.
Sanemi had used his grip on the lengthening hair to pull his head back, flicking him on the cheek. That's stupid, he'd snapped, and Giyuu wasn't allowed to talk about himself like that, either.
Giyuu had blinked, scrunching his nose like he was confused, sleepy enough to let the expression slip. What is, he'd asked, eyes slipping closed.
Sanemi had pushed his face back down to his chest and told him to go to sleep.
The next day, they'd seen Urokodaki off. Tokito, too, returned to his own estate. Kanoe and Genya returned to their teachers. Tanjiro, Inosuke and Zenitsu headed off on a mission the day after that. Finally, they were empty nesters.
Well, if you didn't count Nezuko.
She'd chosen to stay behind, for once. Content her brother would be safe with his friends for the time being. The farewell between the two had been a dramatic affair, way too sappy for Sanemi's taste. There were tears. Not from the Kamado's, but the yellow kid. He seemed more destitute than Tanjiro that Nezuko wasn't coming.
It hadn't swayed her decision. She'd smiled and waved them goodbye over the sound of Tanjiro's fretting and Zenitsu's tears.
Sanemi didn't complain. He understood, in a way, their fear. Understood what it was like to be the only two survivors from their family. It seemed to ease Giyuu in a way, too, that they trusted him so much. So he said nothing during their drawn out goodbye, said nothing when the annoying blonde one wrapped himself around her legs, said nothing when the boar kid dragged him along the gravel.
He did, however, breathe a sigh of relief when the gate finally shut behind them.
Beside him, the edges of Giyuu's lips twitch. "You seem pleased," He says, straight faced.
Sanemi lulls his head back, giving him a look. He's seen the way Giyuu has hidden away from the group of children, seen him nursing headaches behind copious amounts of tea, seen him spend far longer than he usually does training. "I didn't sign up to play babysitter. Besides, you're probaly happier than I am to see the back of them. I don't know how you're such a magnet for the little brats,"
"I'm not a magnet for kids."
"Oh, you absolutely are," Sanemi says, moving his hand to Giyuu's shoulder, turning him. "Nothing kids like more than a quiet weirdo. Suck it up."
Giyuu tilts his head, closer to Sanemi's hand. Black strands ghost over his skin. "Tokito was only here for the haori. Tanjiro's friends were only here for him and Genya was here for you. It's coincidence."
Turning his palm, Sanemi catches the hairs, wraps them around his fingers. "Don't be an idiot. They wouldn't have stayed here overnight for a week if they didn't like you. You weirdos attract each other."
"You think I'm weird?"
Sanemi snorts. "Oh, you definitely are. Don't ask me why I'm with you, because I don't know."
"Neither do I," He says, and Sanemi immediately regrets his words, mentally beats himself over the head. Idiot, doesn't he remember how they got into this position? Giyuu's image of himself was a tipping weight. His mental health has slowly been getting better, at least, Sanemi thinks it has. Some days are still better than others.
He doesn't hurt himself so much anymore. Not knowingly, not physically. Sometimes he gets quiet, doesn't want to eat. Doesn't want to climb out of bed. But some days, he does. He smiles a little more, still soft. He eats without complaint, and his movements are faster. He's gotten better at asking for help, too. It's still a work in progress, still rare, but there are days when he'll come up to Sanemi and say, 'This isn't a good day.' Days when he'll put down the kitchen knife while cooking and look to Sanemi, silent and imploring.
It's all progress. Slow. Sometimes annoying and unsatisfying, but progress. When he had first come to Sanemi even this had been unthinkable.
But it's still not over. It probably never will be. This kind of thing doesn't leave someone, not entirely. Giyuu still slips up, will continue to. Sometimes Sanemi has to watch what he says, careful not be the final straw.
Giyuu's face hasn't fallen yet, though. It's still soft, still amused. More open than he usually allows it to be. It doesn't look self deprecating. "I'm grateful," He adds. "That you are."
"Shut up," Sanemi says, immediate. "Don't be grateful for that. Of course I am. Stop being fucking weird."
"Of course?" Echos Giyuu, almost smiling outright. "I didn't realise our relationship was inevitable."
It really fucking wasn't. Sanemi had almost hated him before all this. Sometimes he would forget how far they'd come, would see Giyuu and instinctively think about how arrogant he seemed. But now they were together, now they have spent so long in each other's company, the thought seems silly.
There isn't an arrogant bone in Giyuu's body. Not a single part of him that thinks he's better than anyone. He isn't cold, just quiet. Isn't proud but insecure. Sanemi's very own enigma; a cacophony of riddles and self doubts.
Before, Sanemi had thought almost nothing but the worst of him, ready to condemn at the slightest misdeed. Now, he's all Sanemi has ever wanted, wrapped in flesh and filled with his bane. His downfall waiting to happen. Truly, Giyuu doesn't seem to realise just how much power he holds over him.
If something happens to him— if, gods forbid, Giyuu dies tomorrow, two graves will have to be dug. Twelve feet of dirt, side by side. It's dangerous, so so dangerous for them both, to feel like this. They're hashira, they have responsibilities. People's lives depend on them, and they depend on each other. If Giyuu goes, he takes Sanemi's still beating heart with him. If Giyuu goes, Sanemi goes with him, willing, and he'll drag everyone he has to down with him.
"Sanemi," Giyuu says, his name in his throat like a jewel.
"Yeah? What are you thinking about?"
Giyuu's next breath is quiet, soft between the two of them. Silken black strands are still caught in Sanemi's fingers, and he tugs them, gentle. A small anchor.
"You," Confesses Giyuu, honest. "Both of us, I suppose."
"Dangerous. Something in particular, sweetheart, or just in general?"
The look Giyuu gives is so gentle, so dear. Sanemi doesn't call him that often, it's as scarce as Giyuu's smiles, but one typically causes the other. This is one of the moments. Those perfect, haunting moments Sanemi sees so rarely. Which will hurt him to remember, to never live again. They're so fleeting. So precious.
He breathes through the ache in his chest. Tries not to borrow greif from the future.
"...Do you think we can win?" He asks, "Against Muzan?"
"We have to."
"I know. But after. If we do it, if we win, what then?"
"What do you mean? After the demons are gone? We celebrate, obviously."
"And then?"
Sanemi tips his head, gazes at the clear sky. And then. And then, he doesn't know. Ever since his mother turned, ever since he lost all that he could, killing demons has been his main goal in life. It has been for all the hashira. They've all lost something to them, one way or another.
He's never thought about a future beyond that. Has never thought of schooling or getting a job that didn't include cutting somethings head off. He doesn't even know if he could.
If they do it, if they win and survive the battle to see the world without demons, what happens? The question is fair, but Sanemi has never thought about it before. Has never wanted to, to be honest. It seemed a hopeless dream, far out of reach. But now it isn't. Now, it's closer than ever. They're almost counting down the days to it.
He's heard of no one making plans. Not Tengen. Not even Muichiro. Nobody really believes they'll live. They know better than to hope.
But here Giyuu is, the last person Sanemi would have expected, hoping. Believing. Praying, even. A small, weak, fragile thing that he presents to Sanemi and Sanemi only. An unspoken wish that they might live to see the better tomorrow they've been working for.
"I don't know," He admits. "Never thought about it. What do you want?"
"...You. To not be afraid, anymore. To see you or Tanjiro leave and not think it's going to be the last time."
"Big ask," Sanemi says, even as his heart softens. He slides his palm from Giyuu's shoulder, releasing the long hair, and cups the side of his neck. "What else?"
Giyuu blinks. "What else?"
"You want a job? A new place to live? Pets? Come on, if we live past this we'll never have to worry about missing out on anything ever again. We can commit to something long term. What do you want?"
He tips his head down, stares at their feet, thinking. The breeze catches loose strands, sways them away. The long tail of dark hair tangles with red ribbon, the light catching the fabric.
"My parents were physicians," Giyuu says, small, and it's Sanemi's turn to blink. Giyuu doesn't talk about his parents. Doesn't talk about anyone hes lost, really. Not like Sanemi and Genya do. Doesn't see something that reminds him of them and mentions it. Doesn't offer stories or facts freely. It's private, his greif, even as he wears it on his shoulders. "I don't think I could do that."
"No? Anything else in mind?"
And Giyuu is thinking. Actually, truly thinking about a future he wants. A future he wants to be there for. Sanemi doesn't move, afraid to ruin this. Afraid to draw Giyuu's attention to his own words, his own wants.
"I'm not sure. I haven't thought about it much, either." He professes. "I just... want to. With you." And it's shy, the tilt of his head, the lowering of his eyes. Cute.
Sanemi runs the pad of his thumb over Giyuu's jaw line, silently pleased at how Giyuu leans into the touch. He can see, just faintly, the thin scar that runs through his eye. It's healed almost to the point of vanishment, but Sanemi can still see it when he gets close. He doesn't know where it came from, has never asked, but he can guess.
"We could do nothing," Sanemi offers. "Retire young. We'd be the last of the hashira's, have two mansions between us. It's not like we'd need jobs."
"You would go stir crazy within the first week."
"Yeah, maybe. Could give sword lessons, I guess. Open a school."
"You would go actually crazy."
"Oh absolutely," Sanemi says, snorting. "I wouldn't even last five minutes. You would, though. You're good with kids, patient. You understand them better. What about being a teacher?"
As he asks, he drags his hand up to hold the side of Giyuu's face, fully cupping his cheek. Giyuu drops his weight into it completely. His trust implicit. "I'm not sure. I think I'd get overwhelmed."
Maybe he would, or maybe the students would be lulled into the same calm state as the kids here are by Giyuu's deep voice. "If we make it, if we live, we'll have all the time in the world to decide."
Giyuu turns into Sanemi's palm, almost hiding his face. He can feel the smile that creeps over his lips against the skin. "That sounds nice," He confesses, and his lips are wet when he kisses the creases on Sanemi's palm, soft.
It does. But to Sanemi, anything sounds nice so long as Giyuu is there. All he can manage to want from the future is this, this what he already has. Giyuu in his grasp and the knowledge of Genya's safety. Maybe, if he was being greedy, he would want Iguro alive as well. Alive and with his head out of his ass and finally confessing to the woman who already loved him. And if he was willing to be truly selfish, then he'd be able to admit he wanted all the hashira alive, after.
He wants to see Shinobu run the clinic she loves so much, rather than get her sisters revenge, even if he understands why she's willing to go so far for it. He wants to see Tokito grow up. Wants to see Tengen finally have a family. Wants to see Himejima take in kids again. Wants to see Rengoku move away from his fathers shadow. Wants to see Iguro and Kanroji get married. Wants to see Giyuus smile never leave him.
They're selfish, impossible wants. Carefully tucked away and hidden in Sanemi's heart. They'll devour him if he lingers on them, hungry things that they are. But he feeds them anyway, let's them live off scraps of hope.
But the hope isn't in fragments anymore, is it. It's blooming, blossoming in the sunlight. Muzan's defeat is in their grasp, and with it, the death of every demon alive. It's feasible now, these precious wishes. Something almost real, almost possible.
He doesn't know what to do with all this yearning.
Giyuu is turning his face away from Sanemi's palm, turning and staring at Sanemi, eyes on his lips.
He smiles. "Something you want?"
Eyes flick up and back down.
He'll worship this moment later, along with all the rest, worship it in the crevices of his mind when things get rough. He knows better than to think he'll get what he wants, to see everybody he cares about alive in a better world. One day these memories will be all that he has to sustain himself.
So when he leans forward, steals a kiss from Giyuu's pretty red lips, he savours it. It could be their last, could be their first of many. He doesn't really know, never will. Even if they killed all the demons tomorrow and lived to see the end of it, there are still a million ways to die without them.
So he relishes the taste of warm lips, the feel of loose strands flowing forward to dance against his cheek. Savours the way Giyuu feels pressed against him, hand slipping around Sanemi's bare waist. Calloused thumb stroking an old scar. Giyuu sighs into his mouth and Sanemi pulls him closer, holds him dearer. Gives him his heart, still bloody and beating, eager to finally be rid of the traitorous thing. It belongs to Giyuu, anyway. All of him does.
And when Giyuu smiles beneath his lips, he knows he feels the same.