#got tired and irritated holding onto this and tweaking minor things so *FUCKIN THROWS IT OUT THERE*

[glassworkspiderlilies]

like wildfire, windblown

Kimetsu no Yaiba | Kochou Shinobu, Tomioka Giyu | AO3 Summary: They can pretend that this moment is tender, that they are not drawn to each other’s pain, that they aren’t going to use each other for comfort, that this isn’t going to spiral out of control until they cannot get out of it even if they want to. —Giyu, Shinobu, and when times are bad for thinking. Notes: woops, almost forgot to post this here! some longer notes on ao3, but ultimately i wanted this to be like...more morally awful than it is LOL.  Edit: belatedly adding on that I rated this M on ao3 for what I can only describe as like...overtly implied sex. it’s there, but distinctly non-explicit, haha.

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Some things are damned to erupt like wildfire,

windblown, like wild lupine, like wings, one after

another leaving the stone-hole in the greenhouse glass.

Peak bloom, a brood of blue before firebrand.

And though it is late in the season, the bathers, also,

obey. One after another, they breathe in and butterfly

the surface: mimic white, harvester, spot-celled sister,

fed by the spring, the water beneath is cold.

— Temper, by Beth Bachmann.

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 I.

Her head jerks up at the snap of a twig, and her shoulders are no less tense when he walks out of the foliage. She knows who he is, of course, and knows that the snap had been a warning, since he would never do such a thing by accident.

“The others are looking for you,” he says, and she glares at him. Tear tracks are drying on her cheeks, and she must look a wreck with red, puffy eyes. She didn’t want to be seen like this, and she’s also furious that he found her. She’d thought she’d been careful.

“If you were smart enough, you’d know that I didn’t want to be found,” she snaps, and he has the audacity to look surprised, though it is just a slight widening of his blue, blue eyes.

“I waited until you were done,” he says after a pause, not meeting her gaze now.

She laughs, harsh and grating, her throat raw from crying. Her irritation grows, because that means he’d found her while she was sobbing and stood there for who knows how long.

“Am I supposed to be appreciative?” she says, an edge of hysteria creeping into her voice. No, she has to keep it together. Kanae may be newly dead, but Shinobu is newly a Pillar now, and her sister—well, she’d tell her to smile.

He doesn’t say anything, and she stalks over to him, pushing him with both hands. He doesn’t move; he’s taller and bigger and this only infuriates her more. She keeps trying to shove him until she’s just hitting him, and he lets her have at it for a while. Eventually he seems to have enough when he catches her wrists, and she lets out another sob, caught between sorrow and fury.

“Time cannot be unwound,” he says finally. “Be furious. Say it’s unforgivable. A pure, strong anger…let it become an unshakeable driving force such that your limbs can’t be moved. Frail resolutions will not save you, nor will it defeat your enemy—your sister’s enemy.”

She snarls at him then. How dare he, how dare he presume to know her feelings, how dare he invoke Kanae like that?

“You talk big, Tomioka-san,” she spits, pulling at her wrists, but he doesn’t let go. “You talk so high and mighty for someone who keeps setting himself apart! Is it so great, to be capable of so much? Does it feel good to think yourself better than everyone else?!”

He flinches, then, and the force of it is enough to give her pause. But she’s still angry, she wants to hurt, and so she keeps pushing.

“It must be nice, to be so good at the Breath you wield,” she taunts, “How easy must be, to save people! A hero, you are, swooping in, protecting the innocents, leaving no one behind—”

“That isn’t me,” he cuts in, his eyes flashing. He’s caught between pain and anger himself, and Shinobu is glad for it. But it’s not enough.

“Quit pretending to be modest now,” she snarls, “Isn’t it what you wanted? Surviving the Final Selection must have been a piece of cake—!”

“It wasn’t me!” he yells, and Shinobu jerks back at the uncharacteristic outburst, but he still holds her wrists fast. He seems to have forgotten he’s holding them, and his grip is starting to hurt, but she doesn’t notice, right now. Giyu’s eyes go wide, then flat, and his lips twist into something bitter. “That person—wasn’t me. I’m not the same as you guys. I only survived the Final Selection because Sabito saved me. I hid the entire time. I didn’t kill a single demon. I’m not, I’m not a real Pillar. Sabito was better at the sword, better at the Breath of Water, better at being a Demon Slayer. But he’s not the one who survived. Because he saved a worthless life like mine.”

Shinobu stares at him, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks again.

“Kanae died in my arms,” she says after a long pause, her voice shaking. Now that she’s dragged this out of him, she feels like she has to offer something in return. “And do you know what her last words were? She told me she wanted me to live the life of a normal girl, and then—when I made her describe the demon that killed her, she told me, but…even though she didn’t finish what she was saying…she didn’t believe I could do it. She wanted me to abandon everything we did and promised to do, to grow older and get married like a normal girl because she didn’t think I could kill that demon and avenge her or our parents. Not on my own. “    

Her breathing is erratic as she tries to calm down, but his breathing is erratic too, having some of his worst memories torn out of him.

“So we’re the same,” Giyu says, tone heavy, and she sob-laughs again. He catches on quick, despite their tales being different.

“So we’re the same,” she agrees, and looks up at him to meet his gaze. “…I’m sorry, I...went too far.”

He shrugs, but she can see both sorrow and relief in his eyes. She knows the feeling. After a moment, he seems to realize that he is still gripping her wrists, and lets go of them with a light gasp. She’s bruising, and she curses her frailty in this regard.

“I’m…sorry,” he says, a little frantic, and the corners of her lip quirk up—it’s the second time they’ve repeated each other’s words in succession.

He goes to move back, but she’s the one who grabs his wrist this time.

“No. Stay,” she says, and leans her forehead against his chest. “Just…stay.”

He does. She closes her stinging eyes and rests for a while. Giyu stands stiffly, but she draws out the moment, exhausted, and eventually, with nothing else to do, he rests his chin on her head.

It is a quiet moment, and they can pretend that it is tender, that they are not drawn to each other’s pain, that they aren’t going to use each other for comfort, that this isn’t going to spiral out of control until they cannot get out of it even if they want to.

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 II.

One sweltering summer night, when Shinobu cannot sleep, she goes out for a walk. It is more a patrol, because she doesn’t go anywhere without her sword, anymore, but she is at least not dressed in her uniform. Even Kanae’s haori is at home, and truth be told, Shinobu feels odd, in regular clothing that isn’t Demon Slayer issue. It feels like she is playing at being a common, normal girl.

She laughs to herself. Aside from her sword, she’s got the knives in her shoes and hairpins dipped in poison—there are other monsters out there aside from demons, and she must defend against them, as well, with more common weaponry. This is about as normal as she’ll get.

But it’s difficult, when such a thing was Kanae’s dying wish. There’s no going back and she hardly thinks Kanae will fault her for not following it, but sometimes, in the deep dark hours of the night, she can’t help but wonder if she could—should—try. What was life like, before her parents were killed? What would it be like if they hadn’t been? Girls from families like hers had marriage talks when they came of age; Kanae was nearly ready to enter that world until tragedy struck.

In truth, Shinobu cannot fathom what a normal life would consist of—what on earth would she fill her days with? And above all, how could she live under a man’s thumb?

Why would Kanae want such a thing for her?

Shinobu clicks her tongue and shakes her head, as if she can dislodge her tumultuous thoughts that way. She looks up for a moment, the moon bright and stars littering the sky, before jumping onto the roofs of the houses. Aimlessly, she begins to run, flipping and fluttering through the air as if she were on a training course.

The movement distracts her, but so much so that she realizes too late that there is someone sitting on one of the roofs. Startled, she jumps to avoid a collision, but she misjudges the distance and is in danger of plummeting into the space between houses. As she falls, though, she sees hands reach for hers and she stretches to grab them, knowing help when she sees it—they swing her around, and she lands almost gracefully, skirts swirling around her legs.

Her eyes widen as she looks up to see who saved her.

“Tomioka-san,” she says, surprise evident in her tone.

“Kochou,” he says, just as surprised.

“What are you doing here?” she blurts, baffled by his presence. It’s quite late, and she doesn’t exactly know where she is, so why on earth would he be here?

He blinks at her.

“I live here,” he says slowly.  

“Oh! Do you?” she says out of embarrassment.

They both notice they’re still holding hands, and they both drop them at the same time.

“Yes,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“I was…taking a walk. Just…trying to clear my head,” she says, unsure of how to explain herself.

The side of his lips quirk up ever so slightly.

“A walk?” He asks, and something about his tone and the way he’s questioning lets her know that it’s not actually a question.

She looks back up again, and with some mortification she realizes that he’d been watching her, for who knows how long, as she was doing acrobatics in the air.

“I—you—” She stutters, and now his eyes crinkle at the edges too. She’s never seen him smile, and he isn’t, not really, but it’s close, and at her expense, and she doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“I was curious as to who it might be. The movements looked familiar, but I didn’t know what to expect,” he says by way of explanation, with a slight shrug. “You look different.”

She might be blushing, but she’s trying very hard not to. Either way, she’ll never know the results.

“A walk,” she confirms adamantly. The amusement remains on his face. “What were you doing on the roof, anyway?”

“Thinking,” he responds, and the almost-smile fades away, his expression darkening.

Ah. She knows, with sudden clarity, what he might be thinking of, or about. It’s those hours of the night, and she knows how unkind they can be.

“It’s a bad time for that,” she murmurs, and he looks sharply at her. She does not shy away, and stares back.

He holds her gaze for a while until some tension drops from his shoulders and he looks up at the moon. She does too, and they stand in silence for a while.

“…Would you like some tea?” Giyu asks eventually, and she looks at him in mild surprise.

He’s seeking her company. But then again, she really shouldn’t be surprised. They’ve dragged each other’s wounds out into the open once already, there’s no going back after that.

It’s late, they’re awake, and neither of them wants to be alone with their thoughts.

So Shinobu says “yes, please,” and drops from the roof with him, following him inside.

It’s a small place, and sparse, containing only the necessities. He goes to the refrigerator, pouring two cups of cold barley tea. Shinobu accepts hers graciously and sips at it, unsure of what to do now that she’s here. They lean against opposite sides of the wall near the window, still close enough to talk, but they stand in silence, looking out at the sky again. But it seems like Giyu is in a talkative mood tonight, and so it’s he who initiates the conversation.  

“May I speak?” he asks, and Shinobu turns to him. He’s not looking at her, his eyes downcast, and so she matches his seriousness.

“Yes, of course,” she says.

But he hesitates, drinking from his cup to extend the silence for a bit longer. His body is tense, his expression stressed, but she waits patiently for him to continue. She tore something out of him he hadn’t wanted to say last time—this time, she’ll give him the choice.

“Have you ever thought about quitting the Demon Slaying Corps?”

It rushes it out him in a breath, his voice defeated, and she almost drops her drink. He’s not looking at her, but her silence seems to unnerve him, and so he glances back. She must look incredulous, because he turns away, the vulnerability in his eyes shuttering closed—

“Wait,” she says, the word coming out of her like she’s gasping for air. “I just—I didn’t think….that you would have too.”

He turns back to her again, and he doesn’t look—hopeful, but it’s a wary, sad sort of relief, that someone else has thought the same unfortunate thing.

The question and answer sits heavy between them.

“It would be irresponsible. There are still things that have to be done. But I was never supposed to be here. I was never supposed to be the one to survive. But I’m still here.”

Giyu’s eyes are blank and faraway, and Shinobu pushes off the wall and steps closer to him to draw his attention to her.

“I told you that my sister’s dying wish was for me to be a normal girl,” she says. “I think, sometimes, about giving it all up and trying. I don’t think it would have worked. But maybe I should be trying harder. But I’m still here.”

He stares at her.

“I’m sure you could do it, if you wanted to,” he says. It’s not the right thing to say, and bitter laughter bubbles up in her chest. But she knows why he says it, because he still believes himself lesser, somehow.

She waves a hand dismissively, but he doesn’t seem to want to let the matter go.

“If you became a Pillar, I’m sure you could do just as well otherwise,” he says absently. “But it would be a shame. You developed your own Breath. You made your own place. You’re even in charge of the healing for the Corps. If you left, you would certainly be missed.”

Shinobu stares at him with wide eyes—it sounds like praise, and she didn’t know he paid this kind of attention to her.

“You’re worthy of being a Pillar,” he continues. “So you should stay. Maybe it is I that should be trying to live a normal life. There are others who can be the Water Pillar, and do it better. Ah.”

Her head snaps to him—that tone, that realization, she doesn’t like where it’s going. He continues before she has a chance to speak, and she grips her own arms and begins to tremble, letting him get the words out though she feels an awful sense of foreboding.

“I held onto the place because I thought I had to hold it. If I don’t—then someone is free to step into it.”

“Don’t!”

She drops the cup, the remainder of its contents splashing over his floor, tackling him. He stumbles, dropping his own cup, and she cups his face, squeezing his cheeks together.

“Don’t,” she repeats, and his eyes widen at her expression.

“I’ve just—been thinking—”

“Stop thinking,” she hisses, “It’s a bad time for thinking.”

He looks at curiously.

“You said that earlier,” he murmurs, and his gaze darts away from her, then back, seeing as she’s occupying his field of vision. “But you can’t just—”

She kisses him. It’s harsh and desperate and she doesn’t know what she’s doing, but she’s afraid for him. They’re friends, or something like it, and she hadn’t realized how possessive she’d become since Kanae’s death. She doesn’t want to lose him, she doesn’t want to lose anything anymore. The demons still take, and she becomes angrier for each thing she continues to lose. But here, where he is in her grasp and solid underneath her, she wants to keep him—no, she’s going to keep him.

He goes still from shock, but she digs her fingers into his hair and he leans in, his returning kiss gentle. It’s too gentle, and the tears prick at the corners of her eyes. He slides his hands around her and his touch is gentle too, but he presses her into him like he’s rediscovering what touch means. He might be, she realizes. He’s been alone for a long time. A traitor tear slides down her cheeks and he pulls back with concern when he notices, but she wipes it away with the back of her hand.

“No,” she whispers, “It’s not that. Keep going.”

He brushes her hair behind her ear, searching for something in her eyes.

“Stay?” he asks, after a moment, and she laughs. She’s seen him kill demons—it’s elegant, and beautiful, but merciless. One would not think him a kind man at first glance, but now—his touch, his words, his expression, they’re all gentle. She’s the unkind one, here.

“Yes,” she responds, and leans into another kiss.

They don’t really know what they’re doing—when Giyu’s hands work their way beneath her kimono, she pauses to consider the sensation. When she splays her own hands on the bare planes of his chest, she can feel him trembling under her touch. None of it is fear—fear, they are used to. But this is unfamiliar ground; bodies that they aren’t cleaving or stabbing are unfamiliar ground.

It’s doesn’t matter. They learn together; she arches her back when he presses a kiss to the base of her throat, he rumbles low when she drags her nails across his collarbones. Shinobu is fascinated—she has the potential advantage of anatomical study, and so as she explores his body half-academically, the expressions and sounds that Giyu makes a wonder. This stoic man, opening underneath her like a butterfly’s wings—and the look he gives her as she traces a line down his chest…  

She smiles, and something about it kindles something in Giyu; his kiss is hungrier, and so are his hands. It’s the hunger she wants, destruction imminent in a very different way. But despite it all, they are quiet in the act—such a thing is their modus operandi, after all—the disruption in the night air only soft pants that quicken until they are short gasps, the sound of skin against skin, then the exhale of breath in a sigh that sounds like surrender.

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She’s still there when he wakes. Somehow, he hadn’t expected this. She is curled towards him, and he reaches out a hand to touch her face before he retracts it, afraid that he will wake her. Her face is soft in sleep, her hair unbound and splayed over the pillow. It’s nearly dawn, the skies still dark, but lightening.

Giyu feels…fine. Content, unburdened. A part of him recognizes that normally, he’d be worried—fraught, even, with self-loathing thinking that last night was a mistake, that Shinobu deserved better, that he’d taken advantage of what she started out of selfishness. But he feels content, unburdened. Shinobu had made it very clear what her intentions were, and had it been merely impulse, she would have stopped before it had gone as far as it did.

It’s trust, really, that he isn’t beating himself up over this—in Shinobu, if not himself.

Still. He wonders how she feels about this. She is young, and unmarried, and though the Demon Slayer Corps creates its own sense of morality, it is undeniable that certain standards are prevalent outside of it, and even sometimes in. And she’d talked last night about being a normal girl. Has he ruined her chances, if it’s something she ever truly wants to pursue?

He has to ask. He will ask.

He’s scared to ask.

Delicately, he brushes a lock of hair from her face, traces the curve of her cheek. When she doesn’t stir, he grows a little bolder and cups her cheek with his palm. He studies her, memorizes what she looks like in this moment, then pulls away.

Giyu turns, half-rising in order to get out of the bed. But before he has a chance to do so, he feels an arm drape over his side, and then a soft body press against his.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Shinobu says into his ear, her voice throaty from sleep.

“Were you awake the whole time?” he says, a slight flush rising in his cheeks. He feels her smile against his neck.

“Not the whole time,” she says. “You were thinking.”

He turns to her, though he can’t quite see her face. But he feels her chest against him, her breath tickling his neck.

“It’s not quite a bad time for thinking,” he says, looking at the window, at the sun beginning to rise.

“No,” she murmurs, “But I’m not sure I like what you were.”

She pulls him back beneath the blankets, and he relents without protest.

“Are you running away?” She asks, and the question holds no accusation.

“No,” he says. Pauses. “Yes. I…I don’t know.” He pauses again. “Was it a mistake?”

“It wasn’t to me. If it wasn’t to you, then it wasn’t.”

He nods once, and she smiles, lifting a hand to trace the curve of his cheek, this time. But she doesn’t stop there, moving down to his jaw, his throat, down his chest. He pulls her close, then rolls her over so that she is on her back as he leans over her. He kisses the corner of her mouth, her neck, the dip of her collarbones, the space between her breasts.

Their movements are less frantic, now—slower, more languid. As the sun crawls higher in the sky and their breathing becomes more labored, the sounds of their joining are an echo of triumph.

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III.

They spend Sabito’s death anniversary in bed, where she puts her mouth on him and doesn’t let him think beyond her touch, her body, her scent, and the only word that she lets pass his lips is her name.

They spent Kanae’s death anniversary in bed, where he traces patterns on her body with the lightest of touches so that she’s already shivering when he dips his head between her thighs.

More often they are at Giyu’s small house, since he lives alone and in an area of people who know him simply as a neighbor as opposed to the owner of an estate. Sometimes they are at Shinobu’s when it is late at night and the rest of her household is asleep.

It has been many years since Sabito’s death, but Giyu spends the anniversary either alone and struggling with dark thoughts, or throwing himself into the most grueling mission he can take as a distraction. Kanae’s death is more recent, and Shinobu cannot stop replaying the moment in her head when she finds her sister, thinking she is okay from her back profile, only to have her turn to show the blood all over her front before she collapses. Giyu has become more numb to the pain over the years, but the thought that he shouldn’t be the one alive, that he’s more or less a dead man walking, is persistent. Shinobu’s pain is still fresh, and sometimes the loss of her kind, talented sister is so overwhelming that she cannot bring herself to move.

Neither of them know if losing themselves in each other instead of honoring the dead is better. But surely it must be better than wanting to die.

They don't talk about what's between them. It's a partnership; they know they're using each other and that they're both okay with it. It doesn't affect anything else; they go about their daily lives, unencumbered by the other. There are no stolen glances, no coincidental brushes of the hand, no meaningful words. It's fine like this. 

But.

They do, inevitably, become attuned. Giyu may be famously inscrutable, but Shinobu knows when he's fed up or tired by the hold of his shoulders, the degree of stiffness to his posture. Shinobu never seems like she's in a bad mood, but Giyu knows when she is by the way her eyes crease, and the angle to her smile. They become very familiar with each other's bodies, both in and out of the bedroom. 

The rest of the Pillars don't notice anything different—for the most part.

Mitsuri is keen about this kind of thing, and she watches furtively to confirm her suspicions with her fist pressed to her chest, her emotions about to burst. But she can't ask, surely she can't—shouldn't—ask. It's not her place to just bring up of her own accord. But she's glad that Shinobu's smile is less shadowed, and that Giyu's countenance is just a touch softer. 

Kyojuro can sense that there is a slight difference in his two fellow Demon Slayers, but he questions it no further, only taking note of things when he's faced with them. He thinks that compared to how they were before, this is better. Tengen is similar; he recognizes a slight difference, though that's all the attention he chooses to pay to it. 

Regardless—it doesn't affect anything, nor should it. It's simple give and take. If anything, they're fighting a little better, their movements less reckless and desperate.  

But it isn't without its own problems.

The problem is when they wake up in the morning and Giyu smiles faintly at her in greeting when he opens his eyes and realizes she's been watching him. Her breath catches in her throat and a flutter of panic rises in her—this is not a smile he shows anyone else, it is not a smile he's ever had cause to show anyone else, but here she is, and here he is, and she wants to trap the warmth of that smile in between her hands. 

The problem is when Shinobu turns to laugh at him, hair trailing over her bare shoulder, and Giyu savors the sound of it like a refreshing summer drink. It makes him want to kiss the corner of her mouth, the hollow of her throat, the inside of her wrist; it makes him want to catch ahold of her, as if she is a mirage, because she's not here to stay. Lately, when she leaves, or when he has to, he finds himself wishing for another moment, hoping for another murmur, another hum. 

It's betrayal—to themselves, if not the other. There are boundaries that have been set. There are parameters that need to be followed. 

In the space of the bedroom, they can pretend that this is only ever going to be what they want it to be, and nothing else. 

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Two conversations happen in the spring, when the cherry blossoms are in full bloom. 

The first: Shinobu is over at Mitsuri's for tea, something they haven't been able to do lately because they've been so busy. They're having one of Mitsuri's favorites: pancakes with butter and lots of honey, and black tea. Shinobu cuts up her food neatly, and Mitsuri is steadily eating her way through her second stack, all the while staring at Shinobu with huge, round puppy eyes.

Shinobu knows she's watching, but gives her friend a chance to initiate. When it drags on too long, Shinobu pops a piece of pancake into her mouth and finally meets Mitsuri's pale green eyes.

“You may ask, you know,” she says, amused.

“May I really?!” Mitsuri exclaims, her voice pitched high with excitement, then coughs, adjusting her tone to a more polite one. “I mean, may I really?”

Shinobu nods. Mitsuri drinks some tea, then stares at Shinobu with a more sober gaze, though her eyes are still twinkling.

“Are you happy, Shinobu-chan?”

Shinobu flinches at the question, then goes absolutely still. Mitsuri looks at her with concern but doesn't apologize, and eats another pancake to give the Insect Pillar time to respond. 

“I...don't know. I might...be afraid that I am,” Shinobu says, her voice wavering ever so slightly. “Isn't that stupid?” 

The Love Pillar shakes her head vehemently. 

“It's scary sometimes, to know that you are,” Mitsuri says, stirring her tea. “I mean, I know this is different, but—I'm really happy right now, you know? Pretending to be who I wasn't before made me so miserable, but now I have Oyakata-sama and the Pillars and the whole rest of the Corps. I can use my strength to help people, and I can spend time like this having fun with you, with all the pancakes and tea I want! I wasn't able to do this before, you know? And I absolutely, absolutely don't want to lose it. But there's always a chance that I will, because...that's how things are, aren't they? And I don't like to think about it. So that's why I think that if you're happy now, you should absolutely focus on it as much as you can. Because you deserve it. And because...nothing is certain.”

Mitsuri's expression is downcast at the last bit, and he drains the remainder of her tea. She also seems a bit embarrassed to have spoken so much, but her lip protrudes stubbornly, as if daring Shinobu to contradict her.

Shinobu blinks and chuckles a little, reaching over to refill Mitsuri’s teacup. She gazes at the other Pillar fondly, and Mitsuri puffs out her cheeks.

“What?” she says, and Shinobu smiles wider.

“Nothing,” she replies innocently. “I was just thinking how much I like you.”

She can practically see the steam rising from Mitsuri’s head, and she smothers another laugh.

“Well, I like you too Shinobu-chan. And that’s why I think you should be happy, whatever it takes.”

Do you have time for happiness?

The dark and ugly thoughts reach up from behind, and Shinobu stares at Mitsuri as she tries to organize her mind.

You swore to get your revenge. Are you abandoning it? Did Kanae only mean that much to you, that you can go off and live your life without her? Kanae, who protected you when you were so weak? Do you have time for happiness when even now you only amount to so much? Do you deserve happiness?

“Shinobu-chan. Being happy isn’t wrong. In fact, it’s more important now than ever.”

Mitsuri’s voice is as serious as she’s ever heard it, and Shinobu’s eyes flicker to hers again.

“Mitsuri-san. Are you happy?”

“I am! Because after all, aren’t there still things worth living for?”

Shinobu stares, and takes a deep breath. The cherry blossom petals flutter over the table. The pancakes are sweet, the tea is wonderfully brewed, and she is in the company of a very good friend. And these are not the only moments she appreciates.

“Yes. You’re right,” she says, and Mitsuri smiles.

“Shinobu-chan. Are you happy?”

She gives the Love Pillar an uncertain smile.

“I might be,” she says slowly. “And—I think I’d like to be.”

Mitsuri nods and looks satisfied with the answer. She puts another pancake onto Shinobu’s plate, and there is a momentary silence as both girls work on their food. Once Shinobu has eaten half a second pancake and Mitsuri has eaten another stack, she props up her elbows and puts her chin in her hands and stares at Shinobu again.

“Okay,” she says, “Now tell me everything about you and Tomioka-san.”

Shinobu has to laugh at this normalcy, and complies. Mostly, anyway. Some secrets are still hers to keep.

 The second: The truth is, there are a few times when Giyu has left Shinobu’s household that he has been seen. That person has never made a fuss nor initiated any conversation, merely bowed in greeting and walked away. Though he’s thought about telling Shinobu, it slips his mind because the interaction has been so…negligible. The manner in which it’s happened is so normal, so insignificant, that it hardly even registers as something “bad.” It feels like any other time, greeting an acquaintance from afar, not having time or not wanting to initiate conversation, walking away. 

That changes in spring, on a cloudy night. 

Giyu is leaving the Butterfly Mansion as he has done many times before. He doesn't startle when he is spoken to, suddenly, though the voice does surprise him.

“Do you love her?” 

He turns his head to see Shinobu's tsuguko leaning against the wall, melting into the shadows. He wracks his brain for her name—ah, Tsuyuri Kanao, he remembers.

“Excuse me?” He asks, stalling for time, as he inclines his head in greeting.

Kanao smiles faintly and inclines her head as well, but she does not repeat her question. She waits expectantly, and Giyu looks up at the sky for a moment before he sighs.

“I don't know,” he says honestly, and Kanao nods at this answer. He raises an eyebrow at this easy acceptance. 

Before he can say anything else, however, Kanao holds out her hand, and Giyu sees the small coin on her palm before she takes it and flips it high into the air. She catches it deftly on the back of her hand, even with the lack of light, and lifts her other hand just enough for her to see the outcome. Giyu waits for an explanation, but none comes, and starts to walk away before he speaks to stop her.

“Will you not show me?” he asks, and Kanao gives him another faint smile as she turns back to him.

There's a pause as she considers her words, tilting her head a little.

“This result is merely for my own satisfaction,” she says, “Your answer...you will have to find yourself.”

He raises an eyebrow; there's familiarity in the way she speaks. She's Shinobu's student, indeed. 

“How inscrutable,” he says.

“The words are derived from my master,” Kanao says. “She said they were derived from yours.”

Giyu can imagine Shinobu's smirk and laugh here—if they had come from his own words, hadn't he just called himself inscrutable? He sighs, then looks at Kanao. She stares back, her face expressionless. He sees no distaste or hatred, no judgement. Somehow, he had expected some. 

“You do not...disapprove?” he asks before he can stop himself. He wants to groan at the childishness of the question, that he poses it at all, especially since the girl is younger than him and Shinobu, for goodness’ sake.

Kanao tilts her head, blinking at him.

“It is not my place to approve or disapprove,” she says solemnly. “I love my sister, and I trust her.”

“As you do not trust me,” Giyu says, picking up the implication. But Kanao's eyes widen marginally, and she blinks again. 

“I don't think that's the case,” she says, furrowing her brows. “I don't distrust you.”

“That does not mean you trust me.”

She considers this, looking conflicted.

“Perhaps not. But I don't distrust you.” 

Giyu doesn't know what he's looking for from her—he's stressing her out, he can tell, though he doesn't mean to—but she's Shinobu's sister. He'd had his opinion of Tsutako's husband-to-be when they were alive (that opinion had improved with time), and he's not desperate, per se, for an opinion from Kanao, but he does want one, strangely enough. 

This half-opinion is—excruciating. He thinks he'd rather have Kanao dislike him—it would make more sense. Her disapproval would shame him, and the shame would keep him within bounds. 

“The coin is for me,” Kanao says slowly, “What's between you and Shinobu-nee-san is for you, and her.” She speaks the words as if she is trying very hard to convey her meaning after failing the first time. “It is not my place to interfere, but nor do I have a desire to. It's—” She frowns here, struggling with what she wants to say. “The answer is yours,” she says finally, wilting a little at the inadequacy. 

Giyu blinks at her, then, after a moment, reaches up a hand and places it on her head.

“Okay,” he says, slowly, as if considering it. “Okay. Thank you.”

Kanao blinks up at him, then nods her head. He removes his hand, and she bows before walking back into the estate proper. 

He comes away from the conversation—not ashamed, unfortunately. If anything, quite the opposite. He doesn't fully understand what Kanao was trying to say, but what she did say, he is turning over in his head. The answer is his, and Shinobu's, and that—that is how things are.

He opens and closes his hand, flexing out his fingers. There are choices he has to make, decisions he has to come to for himself. Shinobu's will be hers, his will be his, and together will be theirs, if there will be a together. But Giyu must set his own terms; there needs to be an answer.

Okay. Okay.

.

It's raining, the next time they are together. She comes to his house drenched, her thoughts clouded; her skin is ice cold as they peel each sodden layer off of her, but her kisses are hot and demanding and idly he thinks he likes it when she takes control, though he is eager enough to provide warmth of his own as she slips her hands beneath his clothes and they press their bodies together.      

It's still raining when they wake, the window still open; Shinobu moves first, halfway out from underneath the blanket and ready to dress and leave. Giyu catches her wrist before she can fully untangle herself, his touch light, but sure.

“Stay,” he says, voice still rough from sleep. 

She looks back at him, her heartbeat quickening at his expression. Half-lidded from sleep, but soft, and open, and vulnerable. He does not mean just for this moment, for this day. He's made his decision. Shinobu must make hers. 

Are you happy, Shinobu-chan? Mitsuri's voice rings in her head. I think you should be happy, whatever it takes. 

She bends down to kiss him.

“Okay.” Shinobu murmurs. 

She slides back underneath the blankets, goosebumps raised on her skin from the chill of the air. Giyu puts an arm around her waist, and she presses her body flush against his, soaking in his warmth. She touches him, languid, slow; he brings the heat in her body alive again underneath the blankets.

The rainfall drowns out their breathing. In here, in this small house, small room, there is no one but the two of them. Moving together, their minds are blank save for thoughts of the other, almost as though there are no barriers, as if they cannot tell where one ends and the other begins. 

Outside, no one is the wiser; the world continues to turn, with or without them.