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“Caw! Caw! Dead!” He is given no time to glance at the crow, to even take in its words, but the word dead rings in his ears. Dead? Who— “Kochou Shinobu is dead! She died after a confrontation with Upper Moon Two! Caw!”
Giyuu stumbles.
Kochou… dead?
His eyes widen and it hits him—
Dead.
And then, the infinity castle shifts and Giyuu jolts back to the present. No. He cannot be allowed even a moment to grieve.
Kochou’s smiling face flashes through his mind for a split second, but he waves it away. At the moment, defeating Muzan is more important. To exterminate demons, his life's work and mission.
The adrenaline in his veins forces him to stay upright and running, and he grits his teeth. Giyuu immediately looks back at Tanjirou and notices tears in his eyes. This won't do.
Giyuu turns back around, sprinting, unfaltering and unyielding. Relentless is his stride, because he cannot afford to relent.
In the wake of their victory, he is left panting, exhausted, injured and without an arm. His shoulders sag, and, he gives himself a moment to relax before the inevitable aftermath has to be dealt with.
He attempts to regulate his breathing, but his vision goes blurry. For some inane reason, the image of Kochou’s face, accompanied with Sabito’s and Tsutako’s gentle smiles float in his head before dissolving into nothingness, and then, he promptly collapses.
The battle is won and it has ended, but their struggle hasn't. The amount of dead bodies — many unsalvageable — and the injured pile up against the Demon Slayer Corps, and it is up to them to do damage control.
Giyuu has lost his dominant arm, but at least he survives.
He cannot say the same for many of the Hashira. Ironic, that he is the one left alive, when he is not even worthy to be a Pillar.
He should have died in place of any of the others, he offhandedly thinks.
Especially Kochou. Losing the Chief Doctor of the Corps has caused a state of disarray to blanket the Butterfly Mansion. He is still there for treatment, and he can clearly see a sort of significant panic in her apprentices. A sense of unpreparedness, from losing their pillar.
Her loss is, undeniably, a disadvantage, as the sheer number of patients would definitely have benefited from having her here. The order her life gave to the doctors-in-training, and her knowledge on poison and medicine would assist immensely. He had seen it firsthand during his infrequent visits to the mansion whenever he found himself injured.
Yet, her assistants are still doing well. Unfailing in the face of adversity and difficulty. No patient is left untreated or uncared for, and there have been only a handful of deaths under their care. He cannot say the same for those who could not make it to the estate, but Kochou's disciples are nonetheless holding up.
There is this one nurse with pigtails, Aoi Kanzaki, he thinks, who has seemingly filled the gap in leadership left by Kochou. With determination in her eyes, she is steely, efficient and hardworking all in one. Kochou has trained her well.
Their success is something he marvels at, because they have not been given even a second to adjust. The injured flood in day after night, filling the usually quiet mansion with hustle and noise. The infirmary is never empty, and he thinks the noise is a fine distraction.
Distraction from what, he does not know.
Among the noise, he swears he can sometimes hear Kochou's voice. Giyuu may be imagining it, but her incessant teasing is somehow ringing in his ears still.
Her death hasn't really sunk in yet; he almost expects to see her pop out of the hallways and into the infirmary, walking in with her always elegant stride and her perpetual smile. She'd rummage around the medicine cabinet before turning to her patients lying on plush, ivory beds and checking up on each one thoroughly, frowning if she found something wrong with them. When she would come to Giyuu, she would say something like, “Tomioka-san! What's wrong? Got hit by a demon, hm? My, aren't you reckless.”
So, he is face-to-face with the loss of her life, forced to stare at the physical absence of it. He finds that he doesn't know what to think or feel, really. Feelings have never been his strong suit, after all.
Giyuu truly does wish it was him instead, though.
The funerals of all the Hashira and slayers lost in the battle are held together. It is a grand ordeal, with every one of the demon slayers, kakushi, and the families or acquaintances of the dead or those in attendance, attending.
Among them are the two remaining Pillars, Shinazugawa and Giyuu. Uzui, too, is there, but he doesn't really qualify as a Hashira anymore.
The weather today is bright. Soft sunlight streams through the clouds, bathing the scenery in a welcoming warmth; a juxtaposition to the melancholic atmosphere around him. Are the heavens perhaps unaware of today's events? Or is this a sign somehow, that better days are to come? Or that his fallen comrades are at peace somewhere up in the skies?
He doesn't know. Giyuu has never been that superstitious.
Many graves have been added to the graveyard. It stretches even further now, and hopefully, it stays this length in the future.
There are very few bodies. Almost none, actually, and yet graves are built nonetheless. Kochou’s, as well as Tokito’s, body, too, is forever lost in the rubble of the once great Infinity Castle. Although, he knows, her body would have been impossible to save anyway.
“Devoured by Douma,” Giyuu remembers Kiriya-sama say in response to his question. He had asked how the Insect Pillar had met her demise, and the Ubuyashiki heir did not sugarcoat his words at all. Giyuu had seen many things during his lifetime as a slayer, but this had made him want to throw up.
He eyes the engraving on her one. It's nothing special, the same as the other Hashira, save for her additional title.
Here lies the Insect Hashira and Chief Doctor of the Demon Slayer Corps.
We thank her for her contribution. May her soul rest in peace.
Ignoring all the sounds around him, the sounds of mourning and grief, Giyuu wonders what it was like. Being absorbed by a demon, that is. Being digested. Being made up of more poison than human, so much so that it had handicapped an upper moon and hindered its strength.
It was a clever plan. He would never think of it himself; although Giyuu is not a very creative person, so that doesn't really say anything. Another way in which Kochou is worthier, he notes. Without her, the Upper Moon Two would likely have not been defeated, which would have perhaps led to their loss and demise.
And yet…
When he imagines Kochou injecting Wisteria Poison right into her veins, filled with unbelievable rage and so much hate that she'd resort to doing so, it causes his chest to throb almost uncomfortably.
He wonders why.
Giyuu had always seen through her façade. The way she smiled all the time was fundamentally unsettling, and he could distinctly sense an air of... fakeness around it. However, Giyuu was not close to her, and he did not know every detail of her past or the pain she held underneath her unshakeable positive exterior, nor could he ask. He did know her sister was killed by Douma, almost everyone in the Corps did, but not how her sister's face had allegedly tormented her everyday, driving her towards seeking revenge.
With how quickly she had apparently recovered, everyone had thought she moved on. With a bright smile on her face and a hardworking attitude, she had taken the role of her sister, and everyone has been none the wiser.
Giyuu understands her just a bit better now. Better late than never, he supposes.
But what good will it do? Understanding her?
Kochou is dead, long gone; floating in the midst of Wisteria trees, reunited with her sister.
Now that he has been allowed time to really think about her death, Giyuu wonders why he hadn't talked to her more. She was an interesting person, who always made an effort to talk to him. He could have repaid the favor.
He suddenly feels a phantom sensation in his right arm, and for a moment, it feels as if it is still there. Giyuu tenses. This has happened before, and will apparently happen again, at least, that's what Kochou’s apprentices said.
Giyuu had initially thought he would feel devastated about the lost limb. To be honest though, it doesn't feel as debilitating as he thought it would. It just seems like another component to the change the world is going through to him. Demons are gone and do not inhabit Japan anymore, and one of his limbs, too, is gone. It is a nuisance to go through the motions of life with only one arm, but that's it. A nuisance, having to learn everything from the ground up again, nothing more, nothing less.
To a Hashira, their sword arm is incredibly important, even though all of them are trained to wield one with their less dominant hand as well, but he supposes it doesn't matter now. There are no demons left in Japan, and he is not the Water Pillar anymore.
He wonders what Kochou’s reaction would be; to his missing arm, to this new world. A new era, where she wouldn't have to bear a grudge against a demon that would eventually kill her.
Maybe she would've been happy. Happier, perhaps.
Shinazugawa, holding an arrangement of Wisteria flowers, glances at him when the new heir of the Ubuyashiki family — young, much too young to be conducting a funeral, although he is undeniably capable — announces Kochou’s name after going through many others.
He is standing on top of a raised platform made of wood, addressing everyone standing around it. It is adorned with many wisteria flowers, among others, and decorated generously, but not opulently. Kiriya-sama speaks about her life as the Insect Pillar, and what she has achieved. Giyuu discerns a deep respect in his voice, which is warranted. Everyone here owes their lives to her, in a way, among all the other dead slayers. Even so, the way he talks about her feels clinical, almost. Like going through practiced motions, memorized due to repetition.
He supposes she would have liked it. Kochou Shinobu was always a methodical person.
“As the Pillar who aided in defeating the Upper Moon Two, without her, the Corps would not be here today. May she rest in peace,” Kiriya-sama finishes.
And then Wisteria petals are scattered around her grave, and the incense of the same flower is burned. He can hear sniffles and sobs from around him, mainly by the Tsugoku and apprentices who were under Kochou. Tanjirou comforts Kochou’s younger sister — Kanao, he thinks — who is wailing like a child in his arms. Giyuu can see the comforter's eyes flooded with tears as well, and Nezuko clinging onto him desperately.
He wonders how they’ll react at his funeral, which is soon to come. He only has a handful of years left due to activating his Mark, after all. Perhaps the uncomfortable feeling he has is because of his upcoming death.
Many people, including those he mentioned earlier, place bouquets of Wisteria on her grave. For respect, remembrance, and protection from demons, he assumes. Although there is nothing to protect, no body, and nothing to protect from, no demons. Nevertheless, it is still an important gesture.
When Shinazugawa speaks from beside him, Giyuu is utterly confused. “Tch. You didn't bring any flowers?” There is clear irritation and anger in his voice, which is very in character for him.
He didn't think to bring any. It feels odd to put those flowers on her grave, when it is the very source of the poison she injected into her body.
Besides, he doubts Kochou would care if he placed flowers on her grave or not. In fact, she would likely tease him about it if he did.
“... No,” is all he says.
Shinazugawa huffs and aggressively hands some flowers from his bouquet to Giyuu’s one remaining hand. His eyes widen in surprise as he struggles to get a proper hold of the few stems. “She would be really fuckin’ annoyed to hear you didn't bring any.”
This shocks Giyuu, and he is left dumbfounded. “Why? We weren't…”
“What? Are you fuckin’ dense? Even if you're too stupid to realize she liked talking to you, she was a fellow Hashira too.” His voice is still harsh, and it leaves Giyuu spiraling. Did he… misinterpret their relationship?
Were they… friends?
He held, and even now, holds, a deep respect for the Insect Pillar. He had always thought Kochou's determination was commendable. Even though she was born with a weak and petite body, she had persevered and developed her own new and unique breathing technique and style of fighting. He admired the drive. She was strong with her quick wit, penchant for medicine and poison, her adaptability, and skill for fighting opponents much bigger than her, very much like an insect; she was strong regardless of the fact that she was physically weak and what anyone said. Giyuu, in comparison, is pathetic and he cannot fathom why someone like her would want to be friends with someone like him.
A dangerous spark of hope flares up in himself, before he extinguishes it. It doesn't matter. Kochou is dead.
It doesn't matter, he tells himself.
She was a Hashira alongside him, though, he supposes. He should've brought her some flowers, at least, to show her respect. A comrade in arms, someone he fought with, now gone.
“Kanae would've wanted me to take care of her sister ‘n shit. Do whatever you want, but I'm payin’ my respects.”
Giyuu is left standing there as Shinazugawa walks up to Kochou. The latter isn't usually this open, he thinks, and then wonders if it's the result of their new era.
If the world is changing, should he, too?
After Shinazugawa pays his respects, Giyuu walks silently to Kochou’s grave and places his flowers at the top of the considerable pile formed by almost all the attendees.
“Rest in peace, Kochou,” he whispers. He doesn't know why, she's not here to hear him after all. It just feels right, to talk. To finally say something for once. “And thank you for your service."
He turns around as the funerals continue, tuning himself out as Kiriya-sama announces name after name. He notes that there's a slight burning in his chest, and he wonders why. Perhaps he should visit Kanzaki for a checkup, to see if there are any lingering side effects of his injuries or his mobility training.
After, Kiriya Ubuyashiki calls Shinazugawa and Giyuu for one last Hashira meeting. He complies, as he always does.
It is the same room like always. Wooden mats, sliding door, greenery outside, and yet it is somehow fundamentally different. Perhaps it is the absence of almost all the Pillars, or maybe the impending feeling of oncoming change.
“Thank you for coming,” he says, and Giyuu listens intently. “Today marks the final Pillar meeting. Sanemi. Giyuu. You two are the only Pillars left now. Most of the others have left us, but we have managed to exterminate the demons.”
Kiriya-sama takes a deep breath. “Thus, the demon slayer corps are disbanded as of today.”
He takes in his words, trying to absorb them. It is a significant change, he thinks, upturning the order of Japan, but it is somehow natural as well. The Demon Slayer Corps’ mission was to make sure there would be no demons, and that it would have no reason to exist. Now that they have achieved their purpose, this is simply a logical progression.
“As you wish,” they both say, for the last time.
“You risked your lives for the longest time. You fought and devoted yourselves for the people of the world,” his sisters say, and then, they all bow down, shocking both the former Hashiras. “We, the Ubuyashiki family, thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”
The thanks feels empty, not because of them, but because of himself, because he doesn't deserve the gratitude. Empty, similar to the room they're in, which is usually filled with Hashira. Boisterous, unlike the quiet, tentative atmosphere that's settled over them.
Giyuu wants to say something, for once, as he has regretted his silence too many times to count. “Kiriya-sama, you did a magnificent job as well. I believe that all of your ancestors of the Ubuyashiki family, including your father, would be very proud of you.” Giyuu’s tone even, but he takes care not to be cold.
Kiriya-sama is just a child, after all. A child forced to shoulder the burden of his ancestors.
Even when he sees them break down in tears in front of him and he smiles, the throbbing doesn't cease.
Giyuu doesn't attend the victory banquet, and instead retires to his home.
What is he to do now? He has been given a comfortable and luxurious life at the Water Estate with servants at his beck and call, yet his days are filled with doing nothing.
Not much hss changed since he has activated his Mark. He feels exactly the same, and yet impossibly different.
He is no longer the Water Pillar, and although he was never worthy to be so anyways, he wonders; what, now, is his life's purpose?
To simply wait until his days end?
He showers, eats, and sleeps, and he is slowly learning how to function without an arm, and to use his left properly. His body naturally adapts, and his remaining hand slowly but surely transforms into his dominant.
Although he hasn't exactly learned to write, he can perform basic motor skills now.
But it doesn't matter. He's going to be dead in a few years. What good will improved mobility do?
He has always been lonely, so sitting in his mansion without anyone to talk to is not odd. He's used to this. Used to the quiet, used to the sounds of nature filling it.
The noise when he visits the Butterfly Mansion for his healing is a welcome break from the constant silence, however. He can simply get lost in the noise, so he welcomes it.
And yet, the throbbing does not abate. There is this unrelenting pain in his chest and it causes him to collapse some days. He wants it gone, because it makes him feel so— so—
He had almost tripped in one of his hallways because of the burning, sudden and so painful. The former Water Hashira, tripping, is unheard of, and it perturbs him. He is no longer great, not that he ever was, but he simply thinks tripping should be beneath him by now.
Giyuu has never been expressive. He always compartmentalizes, and all his feelings manifest inwards rather than outwards; so he ponders on the matter, is this pain the result of doing so for years?
He doesn't know.
His visits to the Butterfly Estate to receive his checkups are frequent, unlike how rare they were when Kochou was still alive. They help him with mobility exercises, with healing, and everything in between. He often sees Tanjirou and Kanao there, and they greet him warmly, always making sure to chat with him. Giyuu is thankful for their care.
The familiar hallways and rooms unfairly remind him of Kochou, taunting him. It’s almost as if he can see her, running around with herbs and medicine, graceful as always. He thinks he's hallucinating sometimes, seeing apparitions of her in the laboratory. She is usually storing, making, or researching poison and medicine. Papers are strewn around with anatomical diagrams drawn in ink, empty vials and containers arranged haphazardly around, and she is sitting on a wooden chair with her head down on the table, having fallen asleep because she has exhausted herself. In the morning, she would wake and then realize she had slept the night away, and immediately tidy everything up — Kochou couldn't stand a dirty station, after all — and get back to work again.
And yet it is all in his head.
He almost misses her teasing, and Giyuu still finds her words echoing inside his mind.
This is why everyone dislikes you.
Ah. Right. He needs to meet with Kanzaki for his exercises today. Day by day, she starts to somewhat remind him of Kochou.
Kochou did take care of her, so perhaps that is why. Just like her older sister, Kanae Kochou, she had done the same and taken unfortunate children under her wing, those who had been terrorized by demons just like her. He wonders if this action was only because of her sister, or if it was something she wanted to do.
He had seen Kanae Kochou a few times, and it was a great task to disconnect Kochou from her sister. Almost as if she had intentionally absorbed the mannerisms of Kanae Kochou, melting into one being.
He understands, but only a little. He's lost an older sister too, and he often thinks of Tsutako. Although he hasn't turned into a caricature of her, she's made him into the person he is today.
Just who is he, though? Not the Water Pillar anymore, not a demon slayer, not anyone's brother, not anyone's friend.
Many of his thoughts return to Kochou nowadays. Perhaps it's because she isn't here anymore to constantly pester him.
He wouldn't mind if she did, though.
Something is different today. Kanao approaches him, and it causes him to be slightly wary. He has never been good in social situations after all.
“Tomioka-san.” Her voice is soft and low. The Butterfly Estate is filled with a certain glow today, and he wonders what it is. “I finally got the courage to look through my sister’s belongings today.”
His ears perk up at the mention of her.
Her eyes are trained on the floor, and Giyuu is definitely curious. “I’m distributing some of her things and trinkets between the girls. You see, I have her haori with me.” Her voice quivers, almost like it pains her to talk about her. It probably does. But with bravery that reminds him of Kochou, she pushes on. “I think… I think she'd want you to have it.”
“Me?” He says immediately in response, brows furrowed. Why would Kochou want him to have her haori? “Why me?”
A haori is a precious item of clothing. It means a lot to give one's haori to someone else, especially when the owner is long gone and it is now a symbol of remembrance. Especially this one, since he could tell it meant a lot to Kochou.
She had brutally killed a demon with her most painful poison after it had lightly scratched it, and he had been witness to it. This occurred during one of their missions, and he had stared at Kochou in awe, her movements as graceful and sharp as a butterfly’s. He had seen her battle many times, and yet, it would always be mesmerizing. His fighting style was much different than hers, so he couldn't help but admire. They do have some similarities, as insect breathing is derived from flower breathing, which comes from water breathing. Even so, his style, fluid and deadly like water, is miles behind hers in terms of elegance.
Kochou’s haori and butterfly clip are the only things that remain of her aside from things she left behind in her estate, tokens Kanao managed to salvage after her fight with Douma. They would have been lost in the Infinity Castle unless she had kept them.
So, he decides he cannot accept Kanao Kochou’s generosity. “It's one of the only things left of her. You should have it, as her only family,” he advises.
“No, I'm not,” she says, and Giyuu is perplexed. She pauses, and he wonders if Kochou has any other living relatives. “Her apprentices, the slayers she fought with, including you, and of course, me… we're still here.” Oh. So that's what she meant. She smiles, a genuine one, he thinks. “Yet, I'd like you to have it. I've already taken her clip.”
Giyuu? Her family?
It doesn't make sense.
“You should give this to Shinazugawa, then. It's also… her haori. I think it would be better in his hands than mine.”
Kanao frowns. “As you wish, Tomioka-san.”
A gentle breeze flows through the hallways then, and a smell distinctly like Wisteria flowers and medicine permeates through. It reminds him of her.
Kanao speaks again. “Then, I'll entrust the haori to you. I hope it reaches Shinazugawa-sama safely.” The piece of clothing is then deposited in his remaining arm, and she quickly walks away.
She could have just given it to Shinazugawa. Why does Giyuu need to do it?
Shinazugawa’s residence is not far. All the Hashira live fairly close together in case of emergencies after all. He only has to cross a few villages to reach his home.
Of course, as he had predicted, Shinazugawa is not at all pleased to see him.
“Why are you here, asshole?”
He sneers and his annoyance is evident on his face.
Giyuu takes a deep breath, sighing. “Kanao Kochou asked me to deliver something to you.”
They're standing at the gates of Shinazugawa’s estate, and he is standing outside. He doesn't invite Giyuu in.
“What?” He says impatiently.
“This haori.” Giyuu holds it in front of him, letting the former Wind Hashira examine it. His eyes widen, and his lips straighten into a thin line.
“Keep it,” he says, and this shocks Giyuu. “I don't fuckin’ want it.”
“But it's…”
Before he can say anything, Shinazugawa interrupts. “It's not her haori anymore. It was worn by Shinobu Kochou last, so it's hers.”
And then, Shinazugawa Sanemi shuts the doors in his face.
Well. That went well.
He surmises he has no choice but to keep it. Kanao did offer it to him first, after all.
Days pass by. He's not sure how many. He does not leave his mansion, and spends most of his time staring blankly at the wall, and traveling to and from the Butterfly Estate for his mandatory training and checkups. Aoi has become familiar with him now, and is all the more stricter and serious about his health.
"She would have wanted to see you healthy and functioning well. Do not slack off on your exercises, Tomioka-san!" She had said, poking him in the shoulder, weirdly reminiscent of Kochou.
His eyes frequently roam over to his storage cabinet, where he has stored Kochou’s haori for safekeeping. His room is sparsely decorated otherwise, since he sees no point in doing so. Giyuu could perish at any moment, and he had found himself ready and anticipating that outcome during many missions.
He makes sure the haori doesn't deteriorate or become dirty, and it's the only thing he does nowadays. His only goal, and the only action he voluntarily endeavors to do.
The only thing keeping him anchored to daily life.
Sometimes, Giyuu wishes Kochou left more of her behind; more of her to hold onto. She had left not even a letter, only the ghost of her presence behind for him to cling to. Unfortunately, she had disappeared into the nothingness of the Infinity Castle and there is nothing he can do about it.
He often wonders what it would be like to simply disappear without a trace as well, just like she did. Things would not change much if he does, really. Giyuu would have to delegate the duty of taking care of the haori to someone else, but that is all.
Giyuu sometimes dreams of their missions together.
He's glad, because it means he still somewhat remembers their interactions. He doesn't want to forget.
He can still picture her, with moonlight on her face. She looked the most comfortable, and ethereal in the moon's glow, purple eyes bright and movement’s deadly and precise, yet still elegant.
When traveling to their destination, he'd take care of all the travel and living arrangements while she would stock up on supplies. Demons would drop like flies, flesh melting, insides burning, and the rest's heads would fall to the ground with audible thuds, courtesy of his blade. After they'd finished, during their journey back, she would fill the air with mindless chatter as he would nod along. He would say a word or two in response, and she'd blink up at him, surprised that he participated in the conversation, smiling up at him. This was their routine, practiced and efficient because Oyakata-sama had always put them together. If it was an overnight mission, they'd be exhausted by the end, too tired to even talk. They'd bask in each others' silence then, sharing an inn room because Hashira were accustomed to doing so. Very rarely would they both sleep, taking turns to keep watch just in case. He's at least glad she felt comfortable enough to sleep in his vicinity.
Dreams of Sabito and his sister have started coming back to haunt him as well, and he does not know why.
He simply accepts it.
One day, Shinazugawa knocks on his door.
Giyuu is left gobsmacked by this sudden visitor, mostly because he cannot fathom why he would willingly come to meet with him.
They hadn't interacted at all, not since the haori incident, and Giyuu assumed they wouldn't after. They aren't very close, and weren't close while the Demon Slayer Corps existed either. He wasn't close with any of the Hashira, really, always declining requests to join dinner or any other celebrations.
I'm not like the rest of you.
They're standing on his porch, wooden with pillars supporting the roof over it. Giyuu feels a bit taken off-guard in his simple, thin, and light blue yukata, contrary to Shinazugawa, who is wearing a formal haori. “Why are you…”
He doesn't even miss a beat, and doesn't even wait for Giyuu to finish. “I'm fuckin’ tired of seeing you miserably isolate yourself in this fuckin’ house all the time,” he huffs, glaring at Giyuu. His tone is rough, but his words confuse him.
“How did you know I was…”
“None of your fuckin’ business. I know how you feel and I know how damn tempting it is to just shut out the world. But that shit isn't gonna help anyone, least of all you.”
At this, irritation sparks up in Giyuu. It's the first time he's felt anything other than loneliness, anything other than just numb, so he welcomes it. “So? What am I supposed to do then, Shinazugawa?”
“Hell if I know. Go out. Talk to Tanjirou. He sends you letters daily, you know that?” Giyuu does know of Tanjirou’s letters. He hasn't replied to a single one. “Visit your master or something. I'm just here to get you the fuck out of this hellhole.”
“I'll make sure to consider your advice,” Giyuu says passive-aggressively, because he's not sure how else to respond. “Do you want me to invite you in?”
It's customary to do so, but since Shinazugawa didn't when he had visited him, Giyuu isn't sure what to do.
Shinazugawa doesn't rise to what he said. Has he... actually matured? “No. I'm just passing by. I don't want to waste any more time, so I'm leaving. Do whatever the fuck you want, but don't forget I fuckin’ tried.”
And then he walks away, leaving Giyuu standing alone, staring at his retreating figure.
He finds himself gazing at the moon one night, sitting on top of his roof.
The moon sure is lovely, isn't it?
The moon is bright today, uncovered by any clouds. A full moon. The stars twinkle faintly, and the sky is silent. Silent, just like him.
And so, he finds himself thinking.
He feels as if he's floating through time, only going through the motions of daily life. As if he's piloting someone else's body, as if he isn't Giyuu, and it is quite a peculiar feeling.
Well, what else is there? What is he supposed to do?
Get married? Have children?
Even then, he thinks of Kochou.
He is set to die in a few years, so even entertaining those thoughts is being selfish. He isn't deserving of any happiness either, and cannot allow himself that.
Many around him tell him to make his remaining years worth it, but Giyuu doesn't know how. He wouldn't even be eating, sleeping and showering properly unless his servants made him do so according to strict schedules.
Shinobu’s haori is in his hands, for some reason. He had absentmindedly tugged it into his grip before coming up here. It gives him comfort, strangely, the faint smell of Wisteria coming off of it. He tugs his own tighter around him due to the chilliness of the night.
He's familiar with the smell. Nights spent hunting demons with her, investigating dark areas with no light, he had to adapt and make use his other senses — hearing, and scent rather than sight. They were paired on many missions together, and he doesn't know why Oyakata-sama made the decision to do so. He still doesn't understand. They worked well together, sure, but their personalities did not mesh well at all.
He did enjoy her company though. It was… nice.
Giyuu looks up at the brilliant, dark blue sky, and wonders where Kochou is, and how she's doing.
Kochou Shinobu was many things. A sister, the Chief Doctor of the Demon Slayer Corps, the Insect Pillar, and… a friend, perhaps. He considers her one, at least, even if it is tentative. Even if she is gone.
He finds his hands automatically balling into fists, grabbing the fabric as tight as he can. Why is he…
And then, it hits him like an attack from a demon, as he clutches Kochou’s haori like a lifeline. He is incredibly, immensely, unmistakably, lonely. So, so, so lonely.
It tugs at his heart, physically weighs on him, dragging him further down into the ground. It makes his breath poor, and speech unable, although he has never been talkative. The feeling causes his eyes to go hazy, as he is faced with the truth.
He is alone, like always. The clarity the realisation gives him is insurmountable. Alone, he thinks. It's not so bad, when it's all he's ever known.
No. He remembers a time when he wasn't so alone, with people to stand behind him and support him. With someone to save him from his cowardice.
The thought makes it hurt even more.
He should've been the one to die instead of Kochou. She has so much to live for. Her family and her apprentices who she would have taken care of—
He has nothing and no one.
Perhaps, excluding his mentor. He wonders how Urokodaki Sakonji is doing, and it offers him a slight reprieve from his prior thoughts. He hasn't visited him in very long. The letter Giyuu sent right after the final battle informing him of his health was probably the last time he had communicated with him. Was that really months ago? Time is slipping from his fingers, floating by, and Giyuu is somehow oblivious to its flow. He doesn't know how to feel about it.
Maybe he should visit, now that his days are numbered and he has nothing to live for. It's better than rotting away in bed after all.
Thinking of Urokodaki carries his thoughts to Sabito, almost inevitable, like a boat on a river. He usually refrains from going there, but something about tonight feels different. The air around him compels him to think, and dig deep.
He wonders, if Sabito had survived instead of him and became the Water Pillar, would he have saved more people? Could he have saved Kochou, too?
Of course, he was more worthy by a longshot, more so than Giyuu. Giyuu knows this. However, if he were here, would Kochou still be by Sabito’s side right now, just like she was once for him?
Sabito was more outgoing than him anyway. Perhaps she would prefer his company more.
“Shinobu,” he says, testing how her first name feels on his tongue. His voice, raspier than usual, perhaps due to infrequent use, are swallowed by the night chill and the silent, twinkling sky. His larynx feels a bit weird, like a machine that needs to be oiled. He supposes it's because he hasn't spoken to anyone for a while.
He wishes she could've heard him call her that. Wishes he could hear Giyuu uttered in her soft voice, or even a smug tone. Wishes he paid more attention to her, understood her sooner. He wishes he could have seen her other faces during his lifetime too; how her face would've contorted when she was angry, mouth tilting downwards; how she would've cried, tears flowing down her porcelain skin; how she would've sputtered indignantly when he pointed out her exceptionally pale color. He finds he wants to see her bare. Real, unlike any of the expressions he's been witness to so far. He knows most, if not all, were fake, at least to some degree.
He wishes she could have seen him smile. Just once. She had always teased him about it, so…
He supposes that isn't possible now.
He recalls one of their interactions, tries to remember as much detail as he can. She had talked to him right before the battle at the Infinity Castle, perhaps as a last greeting or a goodbye; or perhaps a chance she had bestowed upon him to get to know her better, one he did not take nor did he understand.
“Tomioka-san! Do you think you're ready for the final battle?” She smiles, and Giyuu almost thinks nothing of it. She's always smiling, after all.
And yet, this one looks off. Different. Like a thin sheen of melancholy has been rubbed onto it.
“I don't know. We all have to be ready,” he answers, emotionless as ever.
“Yes, I guess so.” And the conversation ends there, because he makes no effort to continue it.
He tries to drink in the memory, to swallow it, heady off of even the memory of her voice and appearance. Giyuu wants to scream when he realizes he may forget her voice in the future, and that he may already be forgetting some of their interactions.
He should've known then, that more Wisteria Poison was flowing in her arteries than blood. That she was going to sacrifice herself for them. For both of her sisters. Kochou was a madwoman, he thinks, insane to even think of a strategy like it.
He wishes he could have talked to her more. Maybe he could've said something, talked with her throughout the night, unloaded all his worries and anxieties of the final battle. Maybe she'd have done the same, telling him about her troubles, and maybe they could've been at peace, for once, with each other.
Maybe she would've told him about her plan.
He knows she wouldn't have.
Why does he always keep everyone at arm's length? Frustration festers inside of him and suddenly, he wants to slap himself or something. If only he had not pushed Kochou away, he could've— could've—
Tears start to fall out of his eyes, and before he knows it, he's sobbing. Clutching the haori like a lifeline, like a child hanging onto their mother’s sleeve. Giyuu realizes he's dirtying it with his tears, and cries all the more because of it.
His fear of losing another had stopped him, and look at him now; he has lost Kochou regardless.
He should've been the one that died.
He says her name over and over again, as if it will somehow bring her back to life. He hopes, at least, that she hears his calls from somewhere.
“Shinobu. Shinobu. Shinobu.”
It somehow helps.
His breaths grow shallow and he has to clutch his chest for support. When has he ever cried like this? After Sabito, his eyes had seemingly gone dry, and yet... now...
Just what is happening to him?
Whatever it is, it feels devastating and he wants it to go away. This feels similar to when he lost Tsutako and Sabito, but so, so different.
“Kochou, please,” he begs to no one but the heavens in between his sobs. Would the heavens return her if he gets on his knees? Or even consider it? Giyuu is willing to try, in fact, he would be willing to split apart the ground with his bare hands if it meant he would have a chance to see her smile again.
Just then, he spots a flash of purple from the corner of his eye and whips his head around.
“Kochou—!”
What he spots is not Kochou, or a human at all, but a butterfly with purple wings, which is somehow almost glowing.
Giyuu stares at it, moisture still flowing down his cheeks, dumbfounded and frozen in place as it makes its way to him. Ironic, that he'd come face to face with a butterfly now.
It settles on Kochou’s haori, fluttering its wings. It then flies up, and lands his outstretched hand.
Giyuu inspects the intricate patterns on its wings, and the fact that it somehow has the intelligence to know that Giyuu is someone to not be scared of. “Hello,” he whispers. He must sound crazy for wanting to talk to a butterfly, but he cannot shake this— this feeling.
“You remind me of someone.”
“You should be honored. She was a strong and beautiful young woman.”
The butterfly flaps its wings, and he smiles gently. “I miss you,” he says, and against all logical and coherent thought, he swears he feels something, or someone embrace him, the slight smell of wisteria soaking through the air.
"Don't leave," he chokes out, "please."
The mountain hasn't changed one bit. The lush forests, sunlight creeping through the branches and leaves, the soft ground crawling with insects and bugs — and of course seeing insects would remind him of her. The one change he notices are the several small animals now inhabiting the foliage due to the eradication of demons, a positive dissimilarity.
He has made sure to inform Tanjirou on his whereabouts in case he'd like to visit as well. When Giyuu knocks on his master’s door, Urokodaki simply treats him like nothing happened. Like he hasn't lose his arm, like the battle never happened, like he never even became the Water Pillar. “Welcome home, Giyuu.”
Giyuu senses the warmth, comforting and like honey, emanating from his tone. Giyuu unwillingly melts, because finally, he feels as if he's home, as if he can finally let his guard down and rest. “I'm home, master,” he says, corners of his mouth twitching up. He removes his shoes and steps inside, almost as if it's muscle memory.
“Do you want to eat, or bathe first? I'll run the bath for you.” His master's back is to him, and Giyuu musters up the courage to say something.
“I missed you,” Giyuu blurts out, because he no longer wants to keep all his thoughts locked inside boxes. It feels… good, to say what he feels.
His master smiles.
Tomioka Giyuu dies at age twenty-five, and his funeral is a quiet affair. Most peculiarly, a lone butterfly settles on his grave, and stays there until the next morning, eventually flying away.