Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Nee-san, you look amazing! When are we going?” Giyuu shouted excitedly as he stormed into the room, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

His older sister, Tsutako, turned to him with a soft giggle, adjusting the elegant kimono she wore for her wedding. “You seem more excited than I am, Giyuu. Are you sure you’re not the one getting married instead of me?”

“Nee-san!” he protested, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

She giggled again, reaching out to ruffle his hair as she always did when he got flustered. “I can’t believe today is finally here,” she murmured, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. “It feels like just yesterday I was scolding you for running around barefoot in the mud, and now… I’m leaving to start my own family.” Giyuu's stomach twisted at the thought. He was happy for her—truly—but the idea of her being gone, of the house feeling emptier without her laughter, filled him with unease. “Will you visit?” he asked quietly, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. “Of course, silly,” Tsutako reassured him, kneeling down to his level. “I’ll always be your sister. No matter where I go, I’ll always love you.” Giyuu nodded, feeling a little better, but before he could say anything else—. But suddenly, a faint sound echoed from outside—the shuffle of footsteps, barely audible.

Giyuu stiffened. “What was that, Nee-san?”

“Probably nothing,” she reassured him with a smile, though her hand instinctively reached for the wooden sword she kept in her room.

But the unease lingered, creeping into Giyuu’s heart like a whisper of something dark. He couldn’t explain why, but the air felt heavier, more suffocating. Then, without warning, a deep growl rumbled through the night, accompanied by the sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps.

His breath hitched.

The door slammed open with such force that it rattled on its hinges. A towering figure stood in the doorway, its hulking form silhouetted against the moonlight. The stench of rot and blood clung to the air, suffocating and heavy.

A demon.

Giyuu’s entire body is locked in place, fear seizing his limbs. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The demon's glowing red eyes locked onto him, its grotesque mouth twisting into a grin as it lunged straight for him.

Giyuu squeezed his eyes shut, trembling, bracing for the inevitable. But then—

A scream.

His sister’s scream.

His eyes flew open in time to see Tsutako being thrown to the ground, her kimono stained crimson. The demon's claws tore into her flesh, and before Giyuu could even comprehend what was happening, the monster bit into her stomach.

“NO!” Giyuu shrieked, scrambling toward her, but his legs refused to move properly, buckling beneath him.

Tsutako coughed, blood spilling from her lips, but she still turned to him, her trembling hand reaching out. Her eyes, wide with pain yet filled with love, locked onto his.

“Giyuu…” Her voice was weak, but she forced a smile. “Your sister will always love you, no matter what you choose to do. Please… live for me.”

And then her eyes lost their light.

Her body stilled.

A blank, lifeless expression settled on her face as the demon continued devouring her.

Giyuu screamed, the sound raw, broken. His heart felt like it was being ripped apart as his body trembled violently. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to leave her behind.

But Tsutako’s words echoed in his mind.

"Live for me."

The sound of footsteps outside snapped him out of his daze. A familiar voice called out—cheerful, unaware. “Tsutako! It’s time to go—”

The door creaked open.

Her fiancé stepped inside, his eyes lighting up at first—until they landed on the horror before him.

He froze. “Wha—”

He never got to finish. The demon lunged at him in a flash. A sickening crunch filled the air as blood sprayed across the floor. His body crumpled, lifeless, his eyes frozen in shock.

Something inside Giyuu snapped.

His body moved before his mind could catch up. He turned and ran, bolting out of the house, his legs weak but desperate. He ran and ran, his throat burning as he screamed for help.

“Someone! Help!”

Villagers began emerging from their homes, their faces twisted with confusion and concern. Some were merely annoyed at being disturbed at such an hour. But when they saw Giyuu’s state—his clothes soaked in blood, his eyes wild with terror—their expressions shifted to worry.

“My—my sister—” Giyuu sobbed, struggling to form words. “She—she’s—”

The villagers murmured among themselves, but one of them, an elderly woman, stepped forward, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, child. What happened?”

“A demon,” he whispered. “A demon killed her…”

Silence.

The air seemed to freeze.

The villagers exchanged uneasy glances.

“A… demon?” one man finally said, his tone incredulous. “Boy, are you feeling alright?”

Giyuu shook his head violently. “I-I’m telling the truth! It was a demon! It killed my sister and her fiancé—!”

“Demons don’t exist,” another villager scoffed.

“He’s covered in blood,” someone whispered.

The strongest man among them, a broad-shouldered farmer, narrowed his eyes. “Boy,” he said sternly, stepping forward, “did you kill them?”

Giyuu recoiled as if struck. “No! No, I would never—!”

The murmurs grew louder.

“He must’ve lost his mind.” “Poor boy…” “What if he did do it?”

“No!” Giyuu screamed, tears spilling down his cheeks. “It wasn’t me! Please believe me!”

But their faces were already set in doubt.

One of the women, the same one who had tried to calm him earlier, now looked at him with thinly veiled disgust. “It’s your fault she died,” she said coldly. “You should’ve done something.”

Giyuu’s breath caught in his throat.

Each word stabbed into him like a dagger, deeper and deeper. His knees buckled as the villagers continued to talk amongst themselves, their voices growing more distant. His sister was gone, and now they were blaming him for her death. They wouldn’t believe him. They couldn’t see the truth.

Two days passed.

The villagers decided he was delusional. A danger. They wouldn’t punish him like a criminal, but he couldn’t stay. Two days after the tragedy, a large carriage arrived.

His aunt and uncle.

Wealthy. Cold. Strangers.

His aunt knelt to his level, eyes sharp and calculating. “You are coming with us now. We will take care of you, but you must follow our rules. Do you understand?”

Giyuu nodded silently, feeling the numbness in his chest deepen.

As they rode away, he stared out the window. His home, his sister, his life—all slipping away in the distance. She was gone. No one believed him. He had nothing left.

The night fell over them, quiet and heavy, as they traveled far from the village that had condemned him.

But the ache in Giyuu’s chest didn’t fade. The thought of his sister’s final words, her smile despite the blood, haunted him. “Live for me.”

And yet, how could he? His heart was shattered. What was left for him in this cold, dark world?

He couldn’t live like this.

The carriage creaked along the path, far from the village and nearing the wilderness. The world outside was shrouded in darkness and silence. It was the perfect time. Perfect to escape. He had no place left to go. No family. No purpose.

As they traveled, his aunt and uncle spoke little, their voices cold and clipped. He felt more like a prisoner than a nephew. The walls seemed to close in around him, suffocating. And he couldn’t take it anymore.

Slowly, he shifted toward the back of the carriage, careful not to alert his aunt and uncle. His heart raced. Now or never. If he stayed with them, it would only be a slow, miserable death—physically alive, but dead inside.

With one final glance toward the road ahead, he moved swiftly. He pushed open the small window at the back of the carriage, and before his uncle could turn around, he leaped.

Pain exploded through his body as he crashed into the dirt road. His ankle twisted beneath him, but he forced himself to his feet. The cold night air bit into his skin, but there was no time to waste.

“Giyuu!” His aunt’s voice shrieked, high and shrill. “Get back here!”

But he didn’t stop. He ran.

Through the trees. Over the hills. His legs burned, but he kept going, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t look back.

He ran until he could no longer feel his feet until his body screamed for rest. Finally, his legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the frozen ground. The snow fell around him in soft, drifting flakes, coating him in a layer of icy white. His body ached, his breath shallow in the frigid air.

"I have nothing left."

His sister was gone. His home was gone. The world had turned against him.

But deep inside, a promise lingered.

"But I promised."

With the last of his strength, he forced himself to whisper.

“Help…”

Then everything went black.

The last sound he heard was the soft crunch of footsteps in the snow, drawing nearer.

Chapter Text

It was a peaceful, snowy morning in the mountains of Sagiri. The night’s heavy snowstorm had left everything blanketed in white, transforming the landscape into a serene winter wonderland. Sabito and Momako were already hard at work, their swords slicing through the cold air as they completed their 200 swings. It was a good enough number for their current level, but the cold made it feel like they were training in the middle of an ice storm. Urokodaki, no doubt inside, was probably enjoying the warmth of the house while they shivered from the cold. The sun peeked through gaps in the trees, casting soft rays onto the white ground, adding to the tranquil atmosphere.

Suddenly, a voice rang out through the mountain air—desperate cries for help. The sound was distant at first but growing louder with every passing second. Sabito and Momako exchanged questioning glances, unsure who could be so far up in the mountains. The voice became clearer, tinged with panic. Before they could act, Urokodaki appeared from the house, his brow furrowed with urgency. He dashed toward the cries, disappearing into the snow.

Moments later, Urokodaki returned, carrying an unconscious boy in his arms. Sabito and Momako froze, concern flooding their thoughts. The boy looked pale, his face streaked with cold, and he was dressed in tattered clothes, clearly not prepared for the harsh conditions of the mountains. Urokodaki gently laid the boy down on a mattress, his face focused and serious as he knelt beside him. Sabito felt a twinge of curiosity—who was this boy, and what had brought him here?

“Is he…?” Sabito began, but Urokodaki cut him off with a single gesture.

“Stay back, Sabito,” Urokodaki instructed, his voice calm but firm. “I’ll handle this.”

Sabito hesitated but eventually stepped back, watching from the corner of the room. The boy, despite his sickly state, had a striking appearance. His skin was unnaturally pale, almost fragile, and his long raven-black hair, slightly spiked at the ends, framed his face in a way that looked almost ethereal. Sabito’s gaze lingered on the boy’s closed eyelids, wondering what color his eyes might be. He was younger than Sabito had first assumed—perhaps around his age—and yet his delicate appearance made him seem much younger, more vulnerable.

The boy’s lips were blue from the cold, but even then, Sabito couldn’t help but notice how soft and thin they looked. He felt a strange tug in his chest—a concern, but also an odd feeling of protectiveness. Why did this boy, whom he didn’t even know, affect him this way?

Urokodaki returned moments later, holding a small first aid kit. He immediately checked the boy’s forehead, his face deep in concentration. “High fever,” he muttered. “Hypothermia. We need to warm him up slowly.”

Sabito, still unsure, stepped forward. “Can I help?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Urokodaki shook his head. “Not yet. Leave this to me.”

Reluctantly, Sabito nodded and stepped outside, followed by Momako. She was waiting for him in the cold, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“So? How is he?” Momoko asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure,” Sabito admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Urokodaki-san told me to leave, but... he looked sick and... gorgeous.”

“Gorgeous?” Momako snickered. She grinned at him, her eyes teasing. “You’re not interested in him, are you?”

Sabito felt his face flush, his heart rate picking up. “I didn’t mean it like that! I meant... he doesn’t look too sick... I mean, yeah, that.”

Momoko laughed, shaking her head. “Sure you did.”

Before Sabito could protest further, Urokodaki came out of the house, his usual calm demeanor restored. “He’s stable for now,” he said, his voice reassuring. “His fever is high, and he’s suffering from hypothermia, but he’ll survive. He needs rest.”

Relief flooded through Sabito’s chest, but his curiosity only deepened. Who was this boy? How had he ended up so far from anywhere safe?

Urokodaki’s expression softened just slightly. “Now, the two of you need to finish your training,” he added, his tone brokering no argument.

Sabito groaned in protest, but Momako sighed, clearly just as reluctant. “Training, even after this?” she muttered, but they both turned and headed outside, leaving Urokodaki to tend to the boy.

As they resumed their training in the cold, Sabito couldn’t shake the image of the boy from his mind. His fragile form, the way Urokodaki had handled him so carefully, the feeling of something unsettled and mysterious lingering in the air—it all made Sabito’s thoughts race.

“Do you think he’s a Slayer like us?” Sabito asked, breaking the silence. The question had been on his mind ever since he saw the boy.

Momako shrugged, her breath forming clouds in the chilly air. “I don’t think so,” she said. “If he were a Slayer, he would have been trained to survive in conditions like this. And... where’s his sword?”

She was right. Sabito thought about it for a moment, his gaze shifting back to the direction of the house, where Urokodaki was still inside with the boy. But even with her logic, Sabito couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t ignore the strange connection he felt to the boy, nor the mystery surrounding him.

"What is he doing here?" Sabito muttered under his breath, his mind swirling with questions. The boy had to be more than he appeared, and Sabito was determined to find out why.
In Giyuu’s dream, a thick fog cloaked the forest, wrapping around the trees like a suffocating shroud. The forest looked familiar—too familiar—like the one near his home, but there was something wrong. The trees were twisted, their branches sharp like claws, and the ground beneath him felt strange, almost like flesh, cold and damp.

He wandered deeper, his heart pounding in his chest. “Nee-san?” His voice trembled as it echoed through the suffocating silence, but no one answered. The quiet pressed down on him like a weight.

Then, through the mist, he saw her.

Tsutako stood between the trees, her back turned to him. His heart surged with hope, and he rushed forward. “Nee-san!” he called, desperate. She was still wearing her wedding kimono, the same one she’d worn that day—but it was soaked in blood, torn and ruined. Her long, dark hair was matted and twisted, and her head hung at an unnatural angle as if her neck had been snapped.

When she turned to face him, Giyuu stopped dead in his tracks. His breath caught in his throat. Her face—her beautiful, gentle face—was distorted in agony, her skin pale and gray, pieces of flesh missing where the demon had torn into her. Blood poured from a gaping wound in her stomach, dripping onto the forest floor in thick, dark pools.

Her eyes, once full of love and warmth, were now cold and full of accusation.

“You left me,” she whispered, her voice hollow, echoing in the dark air around them. “Why didn’t you save me, Giyuu?”

“I—I tried!” Giyuu stammered, his voice breaking as tears blurred his vision. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t do anything!”

Tsutako’s twisted form lurched toward him, her body moving in jerky, unnatural motions. “You watched,” she hissed, her voice rising. “You stood there and watched while I died! It’s your fault, Giyuu. You let me die.”

“No!” Giyuu cried, backing away in terror, his legs shaking beneath him. “I didn’t want to leave! I couldn’t save you… I couldn’t…”

“You could have saved me,” she growled, her face contorting with fury. “But you ran. You ran away and left me to die!”

The forest around them seemed to warp and shift, the trees bending and stretching like monsters coming to life. The ground trembled beneath his feet as the darkness grew, swallowing everything in its path.

Tsutako’s decayed body continued to move closer, her hands reaching for him, her fingers twisted and broken. “You’re a murderer,” she whispered, her voice venomous and cold. “You killed me.”

Giyuu fell to his knees, sobbing. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

She knelt beside him, her cold, blood-stained fingers brushing against his cheek. Her touch was icy, sending chills down his spine. “Sorry won’t bring me back,” she said, her voice barely a whisper now. “You’ll be alone. Forever.”

Suddenly, the forest began to collapse around him. The trees crumbled into ash, the ground dissolved beneath him, and everything turned to darkness. Tsutako’s decaying form vanished, her face swallowed by the void, but her voice remained, echoing through the space.

“Live with this guilt, Giyuu. Live with the pain.”

And then, everything went black.

“Nee-san!” Giyuu screamed, bolting upright in bed, his arm outstretched, trying to grab hold of her. Her form disappeared there was only darkness. He felt pain spreading through his body and overwhelming heat as the hours passed. He continued to be tormented by his horrible dreams, screaming and shaking violently.

Chapter Text

The days crept by with agonizing slowness; each moment weighed down by the suffocating silence that settled over the house. Outside, the snowstorm had finally relented, leaving the world cloaked in a heavy, frozen stillness. But inside the tension could be felt from miles away.
Giyuu had remained unconscious for a day and a half, his fever refusing to break. Sabito found himself checking in on him more often than he cared to admit, curiosity and something deeper, a strange appeal, pulling him toward the sick boy. There was something about Giyuu that felt... familiar. Perhaps it was the way Urokodaki watched over him, his quiet care reminiscent of the kindness he had once shown to Sabito and Momoko.

During training, Sabito caught sight of Urokodaki’s door creaking open. He paused mid-swing, his wooden sword hovering in the air as their teacher stepped inside once more to tend to Giyuu.

"He's been unconscious for so long," Momoko whispered beside him, her brow creased with worry.

"I know," Sabito muttered, flicking his gaze back toward the door. "But Urokodaki doesn’t seem worried."

Inside the small, dimly lit room, Urokodaki knelt beside Giyuu, his touch light as he pressed a hand to the boy’s fevered forehead. The heat radiating from his skin was alarming. With a quiet sigh, he removed the damp cloth resting on Giyuu’s brow, wrung it out, and replaced it with a fresh one.

"Still too hot," Urokodaki murmured, the concern in his voice betraying his otherwise calm demeanor. He settled beside the futon, his watchful gaze never straying as the hours passed and Giyuu’s fever continued to ebb and flow. Only when the boy's breathing evened out—his body no longer wracked with trembling—did Urokodaki finally leave the room.

Sabito seized the opportunity. Slipping inside, he knelt beside Giyuu, studying him intently. The fever had not left him entirely, but there was a subtle shift in his expression—less pained, less strained. His features, delicate despite the sweat dampening his pale skin, were clearer now. Long strands of raven hair clung to his face, framing his closed eyes and slightly parted lips. Sabito's gaze lingered, drawn to the soft curve of those lips, inexplicably mesmerizing.

The room was still, save for the steady rhythm of Giyuu’s breath. Then, a faint whisper broke the silence.

"Nee-san...?"

Sabito stiffened, his breath catching. Giyuu's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, yet the anguish within it was unmistakable. "Please... don’t..." His features contorted as if lost in some fevered nightmare. Sweat beaded at his temples, trickling down his flushed cheeks.

Sabito hesitated. How had he not noticed sooner? He pressed his palm lightly to Giyuu’s forehead, and panic coiled in his chest at the blistering heat. The fever was spiking again. His heart pounded. What was he supposed to do? He had snuck in here—calling for Urokodaki would mean admitting that.

But the soft, pained moans that slipped from Giyuu’s lips shattered his hesitation. Sabito cursed under his breath and scrambled to his feet, bolting toward the door. It slammed open with a resounding crack as he rushed into the hall, his voice sharp with urgency.

"Urokodaki! Something's wrong!"

Heavy footsteps followed almost instantly, the presence of their teacher a grounding force in Sabito’s rising panic. He stepped aside as Urokodaki entered, watching as the older man knelt once more by Giyuu’s side.

Sabito's chest heaved. He wasn’t sure why his heart was racing—whether it was from the run, the fear of Giyuu’s worsening state, or the inexplicable pull that kept bringing him back to this room.

All he knew was that he couldn’t look away.

After a few moments, Momoko ran in.
"What happened?" She said breathlessly from running. Her gaze fell on the boy.
"Oh," she said simply and kneeled beside Urokodaki. A loaded silence spread across the room. Momoko’s voice barely registered in Sabito’s ears. His heart still pounded against his ribs, his breath unsteady as he kept his eyes locked on Giyuu’s face. The boy’s expression was twisted in pain, his body trapped somewhere between fevered dreams and reality.

Urokodaki was the first to move, adjusting the cloth on Giyuu’s forehead and pressing gentle fingers against his pulse. His gaze was unreadable behind the mask, but the stiffness in his posture spoke volumes.

“He’s relapsing,” Urokodaki finally said, voice calm but firm. “We need to cool him down more aggressively.”

Momoko immediately moved to help, rising to her feet. “I’ll fetch more water and clothes.”

Sabito clenched his fists, a sudden frustration gripping him. He wasn’t sure why—it wasn’t as if he could do anything—but the helplessness gnawed at him all the same. His gaze flickered to Giyuu’s trembling form, the broken murmurs slipping from his lips.

“Nee-san…?” Giyuu’s voice was hoarse, fragile. His fever-bright eyes fluttered open, his gaze hazy as he stared up at Urokodaki’s face. For a moment, he seemed confused, lost in the remnants of his feverish dreams. “Please… don’t leave me again…”
Urokodaki froze, his hand still hovering near Giyuu’s forehead. His expression softened. The boy’s eyes searched his face, but it wasn’t Urokodaki he was seeing. The name barely escaped him before his eyes slid shut again.

Sabito's eyes widened slightly as an invisible heavy hand squeezed his heart. This boy was all alone now. Had he been abandoned? Who would dare to do such a thing to such a fragile creature? His sadness quickly turned into a slight irritation; he understood well what it felt like to be alone and to have nothing. Sabito was happy with his life now. He had a family, and he felt freer than ever as if he truly belonged in the mountains with his master and friend. “I swear, when he wakes up, I will protect him with everything I’ve got,” he thought, determined to hold him close.

Momoko returned swiftly with fresh clothes and cool water, but Sabito barely registered her presence. He remained where he was, still gripping Giyuu’s hand as if grounding both of them in the present.

Maybe—just maybe—if he held on tight enough, neither of them would have to feel that loss alone.

Chapter Text

Sabito was always allowed to go wherever he wanted—inside the hut, outside in the woods—no one scolded him. Well, except when he was running away from practice. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be strong. Becoming a Demon Slayer was his goal. He wanted to protect people from demons, to make sure no one had to go through loss, to be alone like he had been. But training was exhausting, and Urokodaki could be heartless sometimes.

After the black-haired boy had woken up the first time, Urokodaki had given him one rule: avoid going into his room. They didn’t know when he would wake again, and the old man wanted to prevent anything that could distress him. The nightmares had been bad enough—violent, fevered, leaving him waking only to slip back into unconsciousness. Sabito respected that.

But he was too curious.

Also, that room had all the blankets.

Even though the winter was mild, the nights were still cold. His old haori had faded over time, the fabric thin and rough, no longer holding warmth like it used to. So, as quietly as he could, he slid the shoji door open and crept across the tatami, moving slowly to keep from making a sound.

Just grab a hanten and leave. In and out. Simple.

The closet cabinet was right where he expected it to be. His fingers brushed through the fabrics until they found what he was looking for—a thick, dark hanten with wavy patterns. Perfect. He pulled it on, savoring the warmth that immediately wrapped around his shoulders.

Then, from the corner of his eye—movement.

Sabito froze. His pulse jumped in his throat.

The other boy had sat up. His long, damp hair clung to his face, hiding his expression, but his hands were clenched into the fabric of his clothes, knuckles pale.

Sabito swallowed. “Are you awake?” He stuttered, heart hammering too fast for a reason he didn’t quite understand.

The boy remained still.

Sabito shifted awkwardly, his fingers curling into the sleeves of his borrowed Hanten. “Hey… are you okay?”

Still, no response.

Then—whispers.

Faint. Incoherent. The sound sent a shiver down Sabito’s spine.

“…Can you hear me?” he mumbled, hesitating. The atmosphere in the room felt wrong now, like stepping too deep into a lake and realizing you couldn’t feel the bottom anymore.

No reaction.

Sabito exhaled, barely a breath. “I’m gonna… leave you alone now. So you can—uh, sort out your thoughts. Okay?”

Not waiting for an answer, he hurried out, sliding the door closed behind him with more force than necessary.

Outside, the ground was still damp from the recent rain, and the scent of wet grass clung to the cold air. A breeze swept past, making him shiver, but he barely noticed it.

He felt guilty.

Leaving the boy like that—it didn’t sit right with him. He should have done something, should have said something else. But what? He didn’t understand what was wrong with him. Couldn’t relate. Couldn’t sympathize.

Sabito had been alone before. Had spent nights curled up with only his own thoughts for company. But this—this was different. He had never looked like that.

Had he?

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. No use dwelling on it now. Right now, he needed to find Momako.

---

Meanwhile…

Giyuu was alone.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, to dream. He just wanted to see her again. Even if she blamed him. Even if she cursed him.

“Nee-san…?” His voice was hoarse, fragile.

He opened his eyes again, fever-bright and unfocused. “Please… don’t leave me again…”

He blinked rapidly. Tears pooled but didn’t fall. His breath hitched, sharp, and uneven, and his shoulders tensed as if trying to fight something off. But it was futile.

A shaky exhale slipped past his lips. His hands clenched into fists, gripping his sleeves, pressing against his face in a desperate attempt to hold it in.

Then—his resolve crumbled.

His shoulders shook first. Then came the soft gasps, the small hiccups, the tremors in his fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears still spilled over, carving silent trails down his cheeks.

The dream had shattered.

His sister was gone. The warmth he had imagined was gone, replaced by cold, harsh reality.

He hugged his knees to his chest, curling in on himself.

Outside the room, Urokodaki approached with a bowl of soup in hand. The moment he heard the muffled sounds of crying, his steps faltered. His grip on the bowl tightened.

His heart ached. He hesitated for a moment before he opened the door, the soft creak of the hinges barely audible in the silence. Giyuu was sitting on the edge of the futon, his face buried in his hands, shoulders trembling with every sob. He was so lost in his grief that he didn’t seem to notice Urokodaki’s presence.

The older man stood in the doorway for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the boy he considered a son. It was heartbreaking to see Giyuu like this, vulnerable and broken. The stoic mask he had always worn was gone, replaced by the rawness of his pain. Urokodaki’s grip on the soup bowl tightened once more, as though it might offer him the strength to do what was needed.

Slowly, Urokodaki crossed the room and set the bowl down gently on the nightstand. Giyuu didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t move at all. He just sat there, utterly lost in his own sorrow. Urokodaki didn’t expect him to respond. Instead, he sat beside him, careful not to crowd the boy, his presence gentle and steady.

Urokodaki’s hand hovered for a moment over Giyuu’s back, before resting there, warm and solid. His voice was soft, but there was a depth to it, filled with the weight of everything unspoken between them.

“Giyuu, you don’t have to carry this alone,” Urokodaki said quietly, his words like a balm for a wound that had never quite healed.

Giyuu flinched at the touch, his whole body going rigid. But he didn’t pull away. The tears came slower now, his breathing still uneven, but there was a faint sense of relief in the stillness of Urokodaki’s touch. The older man could feel the boy’s shoulders relax, just slightly, though the storm inside him remained.

Urokodaki stayed silent for a while, allowing Giyuu to collect himself—or not. Sometimes, it was enough just to be there. The room was still, the only sounds the occasional sniffle and Giyuu’s shallow breaths. It felt like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to give.

When Urokodaki spoke again, his voice was steady, but there was an ache in it. “You’re not weak for needing help. You’ve been through more than anyone should have to bear, and it’s alright to let someone in.”

Giyuu didn’t reply. He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the words. Instead, he lifted his head slowly, his red, swollen eyes unfocused. His expression was broken, distant. The devastation that had filled the room since his first cry now hung heavier than before.

Urokodaki sighed quietly, his thumb brushing in small circles over Giyuu’s back, the motion as much for himself as for the boy. “You don’t need to explain yourself. Not to me, and certainly not to anyone else.”

The weight of the words hung in the air, and for the first time in what felt like ages, the room felt less heavy. Not healed, not fixed—but lighter, even if just by a fraction. Urokodaki knew this wouldn’t make everything better. There was no magic phrase that could heal Giyuu’s wounds. He wasn’t ready to face everything yet, and Urokodaki didn’t expect him to.

But at least, for now, he wasn’t alone.

---

Time passed in silence, the room sinking into an almost eerie stillness. Giyuu stopped crying, the sound of his sobs fading into the quiet. But Urokodaki could tell that it wasn’t over. Giyuu’s eyes had glazed over, the spark in them dimming. Slowly, the boy withdrew into himself, curling into a ball, away from Urokodaki’s touch.

That look—the hollow, distant gaze—was something Urokodaki had seen before. It was the look of someone who had lost everything. Giyuu wasn’t just sick. He wasn’t just a boy struggling with the weight of his training. He was drowning in his grief, in the weight of all the things he had lost. His sister, his innocence, his peace—everything that had been taken from him, piece by piece. And no matter how much he fought to push it all away, it had all come crashing back now, more overwhelming than ever.

Urokodaki felt his chest tighten. He wished he could do more. He had tried, over and over, to be there for Giyuu, but there were no easy answers. There was no cure for this kind of pain.

Quietly, Urokodaki left the bowl close to the boy and stood. He moved as if on instinct, knowing what needed to be done next. He left the room, his footsteps muffled on the tatami as he walked to find Sabito.

Chapter Text

Sabito was pacing in the training yard when Urokodaki called him over. When he noticed Urokodaki, he seemed as if he wanted to ask something, but Urokodaki cut him off.

“The boy,” Urokodaki began slowly, “he won’t speak. He won’t eat. His mind is... far away, trapped in what he’s lost. I fear if he stays like this, he will not recover.”

Sabito nodded, feeling the weight of Urokodaki’s words settle heavily on his chest. The guilt from earlier only deepened—he shouldn’t have walked away like that.

“I need you to talk to him, Sabito.”

Sabito blinked. “Me?”

“He’s around your age. Maybe if someone closer to him speaks to him, he’ll respond.”

“I’m not sure if—"

“You have a kind heart, Sabito,” Urokodaki said, placing a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. “He needs that right now.”

Sabito hesitated, but deep down, he knew this was his chance to make up for his mistake.

He agreed.

When he entered the room, Giyuu was sitting against the wall, staring blankly ahead, his body rigid with tension. His face was pale, except for the feverish flush still high on his cheeks. Sabito hesitated, unsure how to approach him. A pang of sadness twisted in his chest as he took in the boy’s vacant, lifeless stare.

"Hey..." Sabito started awkwardly, his voice breaking the silence. "I’m Sabito."

With quiet steps, Sabito approached, lowering himself onto his knees beside Giyuu. His movements were slow and deliberate, as though he feared breaking the fragile stillness. He reached out, fingers hovering just above Giyuu’s wrist before finally resting against his feverish skin.

"You’re burning up," Sabito murmured, barely above a whisper.

Giyuu didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink. Sabito had hoped for some kind of acknowledgment, but Giyuu’s eyes remained distant and unfocused, as if he wasn’t truly there. His lips parted, but whatever words he sought to speak dissipated into a shaky exhale.

Sabito’s expression flickered—concern, frustration, maybe even guilt. He shifted slightly, his kimono brushing against Giyuu’s arm as he leaned in. "I’ll get you some water," he offered, beginning to rise. But just as he turned to leave, a faint whisper stopped him.

“I’m sorry…”

Sabito turned, startled.

Giyuu hadn’t moved, but tears slipped down his cheeks, his hands trembling in his lap.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

Sabito’s heart clenched. He wanted to reach out, but he wasn’t sure if Giyuu would accept it. Instead, he just sat beside him.

"I... understand," Sabito answered quietly.

As if an unspoken weight had settled between them, Giyuu let out a slow breath, his body finally sagging with exhaustion. Sabito hesitated before lifting a hand, brushing damp strands of hair away from Giyuu’s forehead. The warmth between them was subtle but undeniable.

"You don’t have to be sorry," Sabito murmured. "You’re still here. And that’s what matters."

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Giyuu’s breath hitched, his fingers curling weakly into the futon. He still wouldn’t look at Sabito, but Sabito could see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders quivered.

“I tried…” Giyuu whispered. “I tried, but—” His voice cracked. “But she still—”

His shoulders shook. Sabito didn’t think—he just acted.

He reached forward, hesitantly wrapping his arms around Giyuu. Not tightly, just enough to let him know he wasn’t alone.

Giyuu stiffened but didn’t pull away.

The silence stretched between them, heavy but not suffocating.

Then, softly, Sabito murmured, “You’re not alone, you know.”

Giyuu let out a shuddering breath, and though he didn’t answer, his body relaxed just a little.

Sabito stayed by his side, holding him in quiet reassurance. Slowly, Giyuu’s weight slumped against him, his exhaustion taking over. Sabito looked down to find the boy fast asleep. His face, though still marked with the remnants of tears, had softened. His swollen eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even.

Sabito adjusted him gently in his arms, holding him more securely—almost cradling him. He couldn’t help but think how small and fragile Giyuu looked like this.

After a moment, he carefully laid him down and pulled the blanket over him. He lingered, watching the peaceful rise and fall of Giyuu’s chest, before finally getting to his feet.

As he stepped outside, he was immediately greeted by the sight of Makomo leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a teasing grin plastered on her face.

“Is your prince asleep?” she mused.

Sabito shot her an unimpressed look, but the faintest shade of pink dusted his cheeks.

“Very funny,” he muttered. Then, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he asked, “Where were you all day? I was looking for you.”

Makomo hummed, tilting her head. “Who knows? Maybe I was spying on you, and you never noticed.” Her voice was playful, melodic, and annoyingly smug.

Sabito sighed. Classic Makomo.

She had a habit of disappearing to some secret spot of hers, claiming she needed "girl alone time." It annoyed Sabito—she was the only friend he had here, after all.

Still, as he glanced back at the closed door behind him, a thought crossed his mind.

Maybe, if the other boy got better soon… he wouldn’t need her as much.

Chapter Text

The sun rose over the trees, casting a soft golden light that outlined the leaves and lit up the secret spots of the forest. Sabito’s eyes fluttered open slowly as he yawned and stretched. Today, he was determined—he was going to reach him.

He dressed quickly and headed toward Giyuu’s room. As he passed the kitchen, the scent of grilled fish and miso soup filled the air, making his stomach growl. He was starving. Maybe that quiet boy was hungry too—maybe today he’d say something. Anything.

Humming softly, Sabito approached the door and gently pushed it open, only to find Giyuu still curled under the blanket, face hidden.

He frowned. “Still sleeping?” he whispered. Not likely. He hadn’t really been sleeping for days.

Kneeling beside the futon, he reached out to nudge him awake—then stopped.

Giyuu was awake. His eyes were cracked open, but they stared at nothing. His body was curled tight, still as stone. His face was pale, lips dry, dark circles shadowing his eyes. He looked like a ghost.

Sabito’s chest ached. “Hey…” he said softly. “Morning.”

No response. Not even a twitch.

Sabito settled cross-legged on the floor, lowering his voice. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk. I just wanted to see you.”

Still nothing. Giyuu’s gaze remained distant, unfocused, like he wasn’t even here. Like he was trapped somewhere else.

Sabito glanced at the blanket clutched in Giyuu’s fists. They trembled faintly.

“I… had a nightmare once,” he offered quietly. “Actually, more than once. After I came here. Woke up crying and couldn’t remember why. Urokodaki said it was normal. That sometimes the heart takes longer to catch up.”

Giyuu didn’t move.

Sabito let the silence settle again, gentle and patient.

“I was thinking,” he continued eventually, “maybe today we could sit outside for a bit. Just to feel the sun. Or we could stay here. Either way, I’ll be around.”

A flicker of movement—barely perceptible. Giyuu’s fingers clenched tighter.

Sabito leaned back on his hands. “Okay. No pressure.”

He stood and stretched. “I’ll grab us some food, alright? And when I come back… I’ll still be here.”

He stepped toward the door, then hesitated. “Hey, Giyuu?”

No reply. But Sabito looked back anyway.

“I’m not leaving you. Not ever.”

Then he left, his footsteps light, heart heavy.

---

Back in the room, Giyuu lay still. His breath shuddered, but no tears came. He didn’t even know if he could cry anymore.

Then came the scent—grilled fish, warm rice, miso. The door creaked open.

“Room service,” Sabito announced lightly, nudging the door open with his foot. “Hope you’re hungry, cause I brought enough for two.”

He placed the tray beside the futon, glancing at the unmoving boy. Giyuu was in the exact same position.

Sabito sat down beside him, not too close. “I wasn’t sure what you liked. If you don’t eat it, I will.”

He began eating, giving Giyuu space. Minutes passed. Still nothing.

“Hey… you should try. Just a bite.” His voice was quiet. “You haven’t eaten in days.”

Silence.

Sabito kept eating, chewing slowly, watching Giyuu out of the corner of his eye. Then—finally—there was movement. One trembling hand emerged from the blanket, reached with painful hesitation… and took the chopsticks.

Giyuu didn’t look at him. Just hunched over the bowl, eating like a ghost, slow and robotic.

Sabito smiled softly but said nothing. The quiet between them was heavy, but no longer empty.

Then, barely audible, a whisper: “...Why?”

Sabito looked up, startled. “Why?”

“Why… are you here?”

His voice was hoarse, like it had scraped its way out.

Sabito exhaled. “Because you matter. Because no one should be alone like this.”

Giyuu didn’t respond. But he didn’t put the chopsticks down, either.

They finished eating in silence. Sabito didn’t push. Didn’t prod.

“Hey,” he said after a while, brushing crumbs from his lap. “It’s sunny out. We could—”

The door opened.

Makomo stepped inside.

Giyuu jerked like he’d been struck. The bowl toppled from his hands. In seconds, he was under the blanket again, breath hitching, body tense.

Sabito stood quickly, shielding him. “Makomo! What the hell?!”

She froze. “Sorry—I didn’t know. I just came to say Master wants us to train.”

Sabito’s glare could’ve cut wood. “Later.”

Makomo shrank back. “Got it.” She vanished.

Sabito knelt beside the blanket. “She’s gone,” he said gently.

No reply. Giyuu was shaking again.

Sabito didn’t touch him. Just sat, voice low. “You’re safe. She didn’t mean harm. But I get it. I do.”

A long silence. Then—

“…You’ll stay?”

The voice was barely a breath. But Sabito heard it.

“I’ll stay.”

Another pause.

“…Training?”

Sabito smirked. “Screw training. I’m needed here.”

The blanket moved. A single eye peeked out.

Sabito met it with warmth. “You’re more important.”

A soft, broken breath. Something loosening.

“Thank you,” came the whisper.

Sabito leaned back, smiling. “Anytime.”

He shifted, settling beside him. “I’ll be here. No rush. We’ll go outside when you’re ready.”

Giyuu didn’t answer.

But this time, his breath was a little steadier.

And that was enough.

Chapter Text

It started with a whisper.

“Sabito…”

Sabito’s head snapped up, his fingers still half-tugging at the loose thread of his haori. Giyuu hadn’t spoken much at all today, so hearing his voice felt like a small victory.

“What is it?” Sabito asked, his voice tight, like he was holding his breath.

“Can we… go outside?” Giyuu’s voice was shaky, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to ask.

Sabito’s heart skipped. Outside? Giyuu had barely left his room for days.

“You wanna go outside?” Sabito echoed, blinking in surprise. He wanted to make sure he heard right.

Giyuu nodded, barely moving. “Yeah... Just... away from the walls. You said it’s nice. I... I want to see it.”

Sabito didn’t wait to think. He was already on his feet, his pulse racing, fighting the urge to grab Giyuu’s hand and drag him out, but he knew better. He needed to take it slow.

“Alright. Let’s go.” He said it so fast it almost sounded too eager, but he didn’t care.

They slipped out of the house quietly, not telling Urokodaki, though Sabito couldn’t help but wonder if he should have. Giyuu needed this more than anyone. Sabito needed this too, though he wasn’t sure why.

The forest was quiet, the trees swaying in the breeze like they knew the secret between them. Sabito stuck close, but not too close. Giyuu wasn’t ready for that yet. He didn’t need Sabito smothering him. Just being there, in the silence, felt like enough.

They reached the tree line, and Giyuu stopped. His whole body was stiff, like he was unsure whether to take the next step or turn around and run back.

“You okay?” Sabito’s voice was quieter than usual, soft like he didn’t want to disturb something fragile.

Giyuu didn’t answer at first. Then he took a small step forward, barely a movement. His eyes stared up at the sunlight filtering through the leaves, his shoulders stiff as if the warmth of the sun might hurt.

Sabito’s breath caught in his throat. There was something about the way Giyuu’s fingers twitched—like he was scared to touch the world around him. But it wasn’t fear; it was more like... longing. Sabito saw the way his eyes softened just a little.

“Giyuu…?” Sabito asked again, his voice laced with concern.

Giyuu didn’t respond. He just dropped to his knees, clutching the blanket tighter around him. Sabito rushed to his side, crouching beside him. He didn’t touch him, just stayed close, waiting for Giyuu to let him in.

“I can still hear them...” Giyuu’s voice broke, like the words were too heavy to carry. “The fire... my sister… I didn't do enough. I didn't scream loud enough. I didn’t—”

Sabito’s heart twisted. He wanted to shout that it wasn’t his fault, that none of this was Giyuu’s fault, but the words felt stuck in his throat. So he just shook his head.

“That’s not true.” His voice cracked, and he clenched his fists at his sides. “You made it. You’re here. You’re still fighting. That’s enough, Giyuu. You’re not alone.”

Giyuu didn’t respond. He just let the tears fall, quiet and steady. Sabito’s chest tightened with the need to do something, anything to make it stop, but he couldn’t. All he could do was be here. So he did what he could—he held Giyuu. He wrapped his arms around him, tight enough to feel the tremors of his body against his own, but not so tight that Giyuu couldn’t breathe.

For a while, they didn’t say anything. The world just... existed around them. The sounds of the wind in the trees, the distant rustle of animals. Nothing else mattered. Not the past. Not the pain.

When Giyuu finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Sabito squeezed him a little tighter. “You’re not. You’re not alone. I’m right here.” He didn’t need to say anything else. Giyuu knew. He could feel it in the way Sabito held him, like he’d never let go.

Eventually, Giyuu leaned away, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. His eyes met Sabito’s, and for the first time in days, there was something like softness in them.

“Do you want to go back inside?” Sabito asked, but he already knew the answer.
Giyuu nodded.

Sabito stood up and held out his hand.

Giyuu looked at it, hesitated, then took it.

They walked back together, side by side. Sabito gave his sleeve a gentle tug and smiled.

“Let’s go home.”

And this time, Giyuu didn’t need convincing.

Chapter Text

That's a special episode!! Is it canon? Kinda, I hope in the future, they will be as cute. For anyone wondering, Giyuu is 12, and Sabito is 14 cannon, so this is the distant future!

——— ☆ • ♧ • ♤ • ♧ • ☆ ———

Sabito’s sixteenth birthday was tomorrow. Urokodaki had shown me a fig tree way out on a distant hill. The first figs of spring had just ripened, and I had been watching them for weeks, waiting for the right moment to pick them. I wanted to give him the sweetest ones for breakfast.
But that wasn’t the only thing I had planned.

My sister used to make me flower crowns on my birthday. She would sit for hours weaving them, and it always made me feel like the most important person in the world. Just remembering it made my chest ache a little, but I wiped my eyes quickly.
No crying. I needed to find the best flowers I could for Sabito’s crown.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

I snuck out early before the sun had really warmed the ground. The dew soaked the bottom of my pants, but I didn’t care. The air smelled sharp and fresh, and the world felt huge and alive.
The fields near the river would have flowers—I was sure of it. Little blue starflowers, scraggly white daisies, shy violets hiding under the rocks. Perfect for weaving.

I knelt down and started picking, trying to be careful. Some of the flowers bent or tore when I wasn’t gentle enough. I kept thinking about Sabito—how he laughed with his whole body, how he always shoved me (a little too hard) when he was excited, how he never let me give up even when I wanted to.
He deserved something good. Something special.

I don’t know how long I spent picking. My arms were scratched from thorns, my hands dirty, and my pockets stuffed full of flowers.
When I couldn’t carry anymore, I sat under a tree, legs crossed, and started weaving like my sister had taught me. Twist, tuck, loop. I messed up a few times. Some flowers snapped or wilted in my hands. It was harder than I remembered.
But my sister used to say it wasn’t about being perfect. It was about the feeling.

When I finished, I held the crown in my lap, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. I could already picture it—Sabito’s goofy grin, the way his eyes would crinkle up.
Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

That night, I barely slept. I kept tossing and turning under my blanket, my stomach twisting up like I had eaten something bad. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw Sabito’s face—laughing, surprised, maybe even a little shy when I put the crown on him.
I felt like my heart was too big for my chest.

As soon as the first gray light came through the paper screens, I sat up fast.
The crown was still there, safe on the table beside my bed. It had dried a little, but the colors were still bright.
I wrapped it in a cloth and tucked it against me.
The figs! I had to hurry and get them before Sabito woke up.

The grass outside was wet and cold, but I barely noticed. The mist made everything look silvery and strange, and my breath came out in little puffs. I ran most of the way, slipping and sliding a little down the hills.

The fig tree was easy to find. The fruits were heavy and soft, just like I hoped. I climbed up, scrambling like a little kid, grabbing the ripest ones I could reach.
When I almost slipped coming down, I laughed under my breath, feeling wild and happy.

Clutching the figs in my tunic and the flower crown wrapped tight under my arm, I raced back to the house.
My heart was thudding so hard it almost hurt.

I slowed down when I got close to the clearing. I could hear voices—Sabito’s and Urokodaki’s—talking and laughing.
I froze for a second, holding the crown tighter.

This is it.

He would know.
How much he mattered.
To me.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

I ran into the house and banged on Sabito’s door without thinking.

“Sabito!” I blurted, my voice cracking.

There was a thump inside like he tripped over something, and then the door slid open.

Sabito stood there, blinking blearily at me, his hair sticking up in all directions. His robe was falling off one shoulder, and he looked like he hadn’t even figured out he was awake yet.

“Giyuu?” he mumbled, rubbing his face. “Why are you yelling?”

I froze, panic rushing up my throat. I shoved the cloth bundle at him so fast I almost dropped it.

“Happy early birthday,” I muttered, my face burning.

Sabito blinked, confused, but took the bundle and opened it carefully.
When he saw the flower crown inside, his mouth fell open.

He looked at it, then at me. His eyes got all wide and shiny.

"You made this... for me?" he said like he couldn’t believe it.

I nodded quickly, not trusting myself to say anything without squeaking.

Sabito’s face lit up, the biggest, brightest smile I had ever seen.
“Idiot,” he said, but it was the softest, happiest kind of insult. “You’re the best.”

Without thinking, I jumped forward, stood on tiptoes, and kissed his cheek—super fast, like a hit-and-run.

Sabito froze like a statue, his eyes HUGE and his whole face turning bright red.

I panicked and bolted down the hall, my feet slipping on the wood, my heart beating so loud I could barely hear.
Behind me, I heard him burst out laughing, loud and breathless and so happy it made my chest hurt.

When I looked back once—just once—he was still standing there, staring after me, the flower crown cradled against his chest like it was the most important thing in the world.

Chapter Text

The past few days had been… weird. Not in a bad way. Just weird. Sabito wasn’t exactly sure when it started, but he had noticed it.

At first, he thought it was a coincidence.

He’d be training outside and, out of the corner of his eye, there’d be Giyuu. Quiet, awkward Giyuu, pretending not to look at him while actually looking at him a lot. Then Sabito would go help carry water from the stream, and somehow Giyuu would also be heading in that direction. Eating lunch? Giyuu would sneak in a little late, sit at the edge of the room, and watch him without saying a word. It was strange. A little creepy, honestly. But… kind of cute.

Sabito had brushed it off at first. Maybe Giyuu was just getting more comfortable, starting to leave his room more. That was a good thing, right? He was always hiding under his blankets like some kind of burrito. A very sad, very quiet blanket burrito. But recently… recently Giyuu had been more like a shadow. His shadow.

And he wasn’t even sneaky about it anymore.

Now, when Sabito turned around during chores or after training, Giyuu would be right there—standing silently, staring at him with the biggest, roundest puppy eyes Sabito had ever seen. It was like having a baby duck follow you around. A very quiet, very gloomy baby duck.

Sabito had tried to act normal. He really had. But every time Giyuu looked at him like that, like Sabito was the only person in the whole world who could make things better, his heart did a weird flippy thing in his chest and his face got hot. Really hot. Like he’d eaten something spicy by accident.

To make matters worse, Makomo had noticed.

She was always teasing him now.

“Awww, Sabito has a fan~!” she would sing, grinning from ear to ear. “Look, there he is again! Your little duckling!”

Sabito would groan and stomp away, grumbling under his breath, pretending it didn’t make him happy. Because it did. A lot.

Still, he noticed that Giyuu avoided Makomo like she was a wild animal. Even worse, he barely even spoke to Urokodaki-sensei. It made Sabito a little sad. He didn’t know why Giyuu was scared of them, but he understood. Sometimes people needed time. And Giyuu… Giyuu probably needed lots of it.

Also, he wasn’t sure Giyuu should meet Makomo yet. She was loud. Friendly. Sparkly. What if Giyuu liked her more? What if she stole him away?

Sabito refused to admit that possibility even to himself.

He was pacing through the house one late afternoon when he heard it—soft, careful footsteps padding behind him. He didn’t even have to look.

“Giyuu, I know it’s you,” he said, stopping in place.

The footsteps slowed, and he heard a tiny breath. Then, slowly, Giyuu stepped into view, hands gripping the edge of his yukata so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His head was tilted down, bangs covering his eyes, but Sabito could see how red his cheeks were.

He looked like he was about to burst.

“It’s okay, Giyuu,” Sabito said gently. “You can tell me. Whatever it is, I won’t laugh or anything.”

There was a pause.

Giyuu looked like he was thinking very, very hard. Then, in the quietest whisper, he mumbled:

“…Can we sleep together?”

Sabito blinked.

He blinked again.

His brain exploded with about a hundred thoughts at once, none of them appropriate. Sleep together?! Did Giyuu mean like, actually sleeping? In the same bed?? Or next to each other? Or—oh no. Oh no. Was he blushing?? His ears felt like they were on fire.

Was Giyuu asking to—? No. No! They were just kids! Not like that, obviously! But still!!

Sabito’s heart was going boom-boom-boom in his chest like it was trying to punch its way out of his ribs.

Then Giyuu lifted his head a little, and Sabito saw his eyes. They were watery and sad and full of something that looked an awful lot like fear.

“I had a nightmare last night,” Giyuu whispered, voice breaking. “And I woke up and I was all alone and I couldn’t sleep again. It was too quiet and dark and I—I got really scared. I don’t wanna be alone tonight. Can you… Can you stay with me? Like the first night I came here? I felt better then…”

A tear slid down his cheek.

Sabito felt like the world's biggest idiot.

All those silly thoughts, and meanwhile Giyuu had just been scared. Really scared. Sabito had been so busy freaking out, he hadn’t even thought about how hard it must be for him. A new place, new people, scary dreams…

Without another word, Sabito stepped closer and gently took Giyuu’s hand.

"Of course," Sabito replied instantly, his voice cracking just a little. He cleared his throat, face red as a beet. "Of course you can. I—I don’t mind."

Giyuu blinked up at him, eyes glassy and uncertain. Then, very slowly, he nodded, rubbing at his nose with his sleeve. Sabito didn't know what to do with his hands, so he grabbed Giyuu's and gave it a small tug, leading him toward his room. His heart thudded like a taiko drum in his chest, and he was pretty sure his ears were burning.

★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹⋰⋰ ★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆∻∹⋰⋰★∻∹⋰⋰ ☆

They walked in silence, save for the soft padding of their feet and the occasional sniffle from Giyuu. Once inside, Sabito shut the door gently behind them and awkwardly patted the futon. "Um… you can have that side," he said, pointing, suddenly very interested in the floor.

Giyuu nodded and started crawling under the covers without saying anything. He curled up instantly, still holding a corner of Sabito’s sleeve like it was a lifeline. Sabito stood there a moment, heart thudding, before finally sitting down beside him and laying down with stiff, robotic movements.

The futon wasn’t very big.

There was a long silence. Sabito could feel the warmth of Giyuu next to him, hear the quiet little breaths and the way they hitched sometimes, like he was trying not to cry again.

"...Sabito?" came the tiniest whisper.

"Yeah?"

"You're warm."

Sabito felt his brain fizzle like fireworks. "Y-yeah, well, you're cold, so it's good I'm warm, right?"

"Mmhm."

Another pause. Then—

"...Sabito?"

He swallowed. "Yeah?"

"Thank you. For not laughing at me."

Sabito turned to look at him and saw Giyuu staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, clutching the blanket up to his nose.

"I would never laugh at you, dummy," he mumbled, turning onto his side so his back was facing Giyuu, partly because he didn’t want Giyuu to see his face. "You can always come to me, 'kay? Even if you have a dumb nightmare or you just wanna be a blanket burrito again. I’ll be here. So don’t look so sad all the time. Or I’ll be forced to tickle you or something."

"...You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would."

There was a beat of silence, and then—so softly he almost didn’t catch it—Giyuu giggled.

Sabito smiled into his pillow. he said softly. “I’ll stay with you.”

Giyuu’s eyes went wide. He sniffled and nodded, and then—very carefully—leaned forward and rested his forehead on Sabito’s shoulder. Sabito went stiff for a second, but then relaxed. He patted Giyuu’s back like he’d seen Urokodaki do once.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Sabito said, more to himself than anything. “Not ever again.”

They stood like that for a while. Just two small boys in a quiet room, sharing warmth and silence and the kind of unspoken promise only kids could make with so much honesty.

Sabito would stay. And Giyuu would sleep. And maybe tomorrow, things wouldn’t be so weird.

Or maybe they’d still be weird—but weird in a good way.

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight filtered gently through the leafy branches outside Urokodaki’s cottage, casting dappled patterns onto the roof. Birds chirped softly in the distance, and all was still.

Inside, a warm hush lingered in the room. Sabito stirred beneath the covers, eyes slowly fluttering open. His gaze wandered lazily at first, until a flicker of realization passed through him. He blinked—and then froze.

“…?”

Nestled against his chest, still deep in sleep, was Giyuu. One arm was draped gently across Sabito’s waist, their fingers loosely intertwined. Giyuu’s expression was peaceful, his usual frown softened by slumber.

Sabito’s eyes widened.

“!!?”

Then, after a second of stunned silence, the memory returned to him—He had been asked by Giyuu to sleep together last night. Sabito had offered to stay with him, and they’d agreed to sleep together.
The surprise in his chest slowly eased into something softer.

Even so, his heart was pounding. Not from fear—but from the way Giyuu's presence felt so close, so trusting. He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

A small, flustered smile tugged at his lips as he lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of Giyuu’s breathing.

Sabito stirred slightly, the warmth of the futon and the quiet rustle of wind through the trees outside lulling him into comfort. His gaze had landed on Giyuu again, peaceful now, no longer tense or shivering. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing even.

Sabito let out a soft breath, barely a whisper of sound.
"He’s... kind of cute like this."
The thought made him smile faintly, and before he knew it, his eyes fluttered closed again.

When Sabito awoke next, the room was still quiet — but something felt different. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the morning light spilling through the shoji doors. Then he felt it — eyes on him.

He turned his head.

Giyuu was awake. And staring.

Wide-eyed, still, and completely caught in the act.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Sabito’s sleep-hazed brain took a second to catch up, and when it did, his heart skipped a beat.
“Y-you’re awake?” Sabito asked, voice cracking slightly.

Giyuu’s face turned red in an instant. “I—I didn’t mean to-I was just—” he stammered, eyes darting away as if he could melt into the futon.

Sabito quickly sat up, his own cheeks flushing hot. “I wasn’t watching you sleep or anything!” he blurted, then froze, realizing how guilty that sounded.

Their eyes met again.

The silence stretched.

Then — plop.

Sabito buried his face in his hands with a groan. “Okay, this is embarrassing.”

Giyuu ducked his head into the blanket, only his eyes peeking out — still wide, still pink.

They didn’t speak for a long moment, too flustered to even look at each other properly. But somehow, the air between them had softened. The awkwardness faded into something gentler.

And despite the heat in their cheeks, neither one really minded being caught.

"We should get up and get some breakfast with the others."
Giyuu's visibility stiffened at that
"Come on, Giyuu you need to meet the others too"
Sabito glanced at Giyuu, noticing how his shoulders tensed at the mention of the others. He softened his tone, nudging him gently with his elbow.

"Hey, don't worry," he said, his voice quieter now. "They're good people. Makomo’s really nice—kinda quiet, but she always notices when someone’s feeling down. She’s the one who made those little flower bundles for the room, remember?”

Giyuu blinked, then gave a small nod beneath the blanket.

“And Urokodaki…” Sabito continued, voice growing more thoughtful. “He looks grumpy sometimes, but he’s kind. He saved us. Trained us. He cares—even if he doesn’t always say it.”

Silence again. Then, slowly, Giyuu peeked further out from under the blanket. His voice was barely above a whisper.
“…Do I have to talk to them?”

Sabito gave him a crooked smile. “Nah. Not if you’re not ready. Just… come with me. You don’t even have to say anything. I’ll be there.”

Giyuu hesitated, but eventually nodded, sitting up slowly. His hair was tousled, and his cheeks still had a trace of pink.

Sabito stood, stretching his arms overhead with a yawn. “Alright, that’s settled then. Let’s go. If we wait too long, Makomo’s gonna eat all the good stuff.”

He offered his hand.

Giyuu looked at it for a moment, then took it.

Their fingers curled together briefly—familiar, gentle—before Giyuu let go and quietly followed Sabito toward the door.

As they stepped outside into the golden morning light, the air fresh with pine and the scent of breakfast on the wind, something in Giyuu’s chest felt just a little lighter. The world was still uncertain, still heavy—but for now, Sabito was beside him.
As they stepped into the hallway, the soft creak of floorboards followed their footsteps. The scent of miso soup drifted through the air, warm and comforting. Giyuu stayed close behind Sabito, his steps quiet but steady.

The morning light filtered through the shoji screens lining the corridor, casting delicate shadows on the wooden floor. Somewhere deeper in the hut, a quiet clatter of bowls echoed—life already beginning.

Sabito gave Giyuu a glance over his shoulder. “You okay?”

Giyuu gave a small nod.

They passed the sliding doors of the training room, still quiet at this hour. Sabito led the way through another open doorway, revealing the cozy kitchen space within the same hut. It wasn’t large—just a low table in the center, cushions neatly arranged around it, and shelves lined with neatly stacked bowls and jars. A kettle steamed gently over the fire in the hearth, and the scent of grilled fish hung in the air.

Makomo was already seated by the table, folding a napkin with careful fingers. She looked up as the boys entered, her eyes brightening.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

Sabito raised a hand in greeting. “Morning.”

Urokodaki stood near the stove, back turned as he stirred a pot. The red tengu mask hung nearby on the wall. He didn’t turn, but his voice rumbled, low and calm, “You’re late.”

“Giyuu had to brush his hair,” Sabito said easily, smirking just a little.

Behind him, Giyuu turned red, ducking his head. Makomo covered her mouth to stifle a quiet laugh.

Urokodaki didn’t comment, merely reached for a tray and began dishing up the soup. The clink of ladle against ceramic filled the space.

Sabito moved toward the table, patting the cushion beside him. “Come on,” he said to Giyuu. “Sit next to me.”

Giyuu hesitated just a moment before walking over and settling down beside him. His movements were careful, tentative. His hands rested stiffly in his lap until Sabito slid a bowl of rice toward him without a word.

Makomo smiled as she poured tea. “I added lavender to the flower bundles yesterday. Did you like it?”

Sabito nodded. “He definitely slept better.”

Giyuu blinked, glancing at him. Their eyes met briefly. Then Giyuu gave the smallest of nods.

Makomo’s smile widened.

Urokodaki brought over a bowl and placed it in front of Giyuu. For a moment, he stood still.

“Eat,” he said quietly. “You need strength.”

Giyuu looked up, startled. Then he whispered, “Thank you,” just loud enough to be heard.

Sabito nearly choked on his tea.

Urokodaki grunted softly and returned to the stove.

As they ate, the room settled into an easy rhythm. The clink of chopsticks, the occasional soft exchange between Makomo and Sabito. Giyuu remained quiet, but he ate—slowly, carefully—and his shoulders began to relax.

Sabito didn’t rush him. He just sat close, occasionally passing him extra pickles or sliding the teapot closer without a word. Giyuu glanced at him each time, as if trying to understand the quiet, constant warmth.

When the bowls were mostly empty, Sabito leaned back, hands braced behind him. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”

Giyuu looked at him for a long moment. Then, shyly, gave a tiny shrug.

Sabito grinned. “I’ll take it.”

Makomo began gathering the dishes, humming softly to herself. Urokodaki didn’t say much, but his presence felt steady, grounding.

Sabito stood and stretched. “We’ll help clean up later,” he said. “For now, I’m gonna show Giyuu the practice space. He hasn’t seen it properly yet.”

Makomo glanced up. “The ground should be dry by now.”

Sabito nodded, then looked down at Giyuu and offered his hand once more.

Giyuu hesitated only a second before taking it.

Their fingers curled together again—briefly, gently—before Sabito let go, guiding him toward the next room.

And as they left the warmth of the kitchen behind, stepping deeper into the quiet heart of the home, something in Giyuu’s chest had lightened—just a little more.

The world was still uncertain. Still full of shadows.

But Sabito was beside him.

Chapter Text

The sun had fully risen by the time Sabito and Giyuu stepped off the wooden porch of Urokodaki’s cottage, the mountain morning still clinging to the air with a gentle chill. A breeze rustled through the towering trees, setting the branches whispering and stirring the scent of pine, earth, and dew.

Sabito walked ahead down the winding path that led away from the cottage, his wooden sandals crunching lightly against the gravel and dirt. Every so often, he looked back to make sure Giyuu was still behind him.

He was.

Trailing quietly, Giyuu kept his eyes fixed on the forest floor, his steps small and cautious—but present. He didn’t cling, didn’t hide behind Sabito. But he didn’t quite walk beside him either. It was somewhere in between, like he was trying to figure out what “safe” meant in this strange, quiet world where no one yelled at him, no one pushed him away.

“First impressions?” Sabito called lightly over his shoulder, his voice teasing but not unkind.

Giyuu gave the tiniest shrug and hummed softly, a vague sound of uncertainty—or maybe agreement.

Sabito grinned. “Good enough, I see.”

The trail curved gently downhill, and the trees thinned out ahead, allowing the golden light to pour through in streaks across the dirt. As they descended the last few steps down the worn slope, the clearing opened before them.

It was round and open, the grass thinned from years of footfalls and sparring. At its center lay a wide patch of exposed earth, meant for training—but all around its edges, the forest seemed to have taken it upon itself to decorate. Wildflowers bloomed freely—purples and whites and yellows reaching up to greet the morning sun. Old, thick trees stood like sentinels around the ring, their bark scarred but steady.

Sabito took a breath and let it out. “They bloomed early this year,” he said, more to himself than anything. Then, glancing at Giyuu, he added softly, “Maybe they bloomed for you.”

Giyuu’s eyes finally lifted, hesitant at first—but then, the flowers caught his gaze.

A spark flickered in his chest.

He stepped forward, just a little, then a little more. And suddenly, it was like the quiet weight in his limbs had been forgotten entirely.

He took off running—small feet thudding softly across the dirt—skipping between the flowers at the edge of the clearing, crouching to look at one, then darting toward another. His silence fell away, replaced by light breaths and wide eyes and quiet delight.

Sabito watched from where he stood at the edge, his mouth open slightly in surprise.

“…Hey.”

He blinked, then smiled slowly, the warmth in his chest bubbling into something giddy.

Then—suddenly—Giyuu stopped and turned. His expression was lit with excitement, his dark eyes sparkling as he looked straight at Sabito.

“Are you a princess?”

Sabito nearly choked on air. “H-Huh?! What?!”

Giyuu was running toward him now, cautiously but with purpose, his gaze focused on something near Sabito’s head. “Don’t move! There’s a butterfly on your hair!”

Sabito froze—knees locked, heart racing for a completely different reason now.

“A butterfly?!”

He didn’t dare move, limbs stiff as boards. Giyuu had already come to stand right in front of him, peering up with intense concentration. His face was close. Too close. Sabito could see the tiny lashes on Giyuu’s cheeks, the way his nose scrunched ever so slightly when he focused.

He was screaming internally. Loudly. Endlessly.

Giyuu reached up slowly, carefully, but didn’t touch—just watched. His breath was soft, and for a moment, the whole clearing felt like it held its breath with them.

The butterfly’s wings fluttered gently in the sunlight, catching on a strand of Sabito’s wild pink hair.

It stayed for one heartbeat… two… and then—

Flick.

It flew away.

Giyuu watched it go with quiet wonder, eyes following its path toward the trees. His shoulders sagged slightly with disappointment.

“…She left.”

Sabito, still blushing furiously, finally exhaled. “Th-that was terrifying.”

Giyuu blinked up at him. “It wasn’t scary.”

Sabito groaned softly. “It was emotionally terrifying, Giyuu.”

But the younger boy was already running after the butterfly, arms stretched as he chased it toward the far end of the clearing. “Sabito! How do I make her sit on my hair too?!”

Sabito rubbed the back of his neck, watching the scene unfold with a smile he couldn’t quite contain. “I—I don’t know. Be nice? Smell like flowers?”

Giyuu was laughing now, the quietest kind of giggle, chasing nothing in particular.

Then—thud.

He tripped and landed with a small groan on the grass.

“Giyuu!” Sabito ran toward him at once, kneeling at his side. “Are you okay?”

Giyuu groaned again, one hand rubbing at his elbow.

“I’m fine…” he muttered.

Sabito gently brushed off his sleeve and offered a hand to help him up—but before he could, a flash of color fluttered down from above.

The same butterfly from before landed delicately atop Giyuu’s head.

Sabito blinked.

Then laughed. A real, full laugh. “Well, would you look at that.”

Giyuu sat up slowly, eyes wide as he looked upward in wonder.

“She came back…”

Sabito smiled at him, the kind that made his chest feel warm in a way he didn’t quite understand yet. “Guess she changed her mind.”

Giyuu didn’t speak—but he smiled. A small one. Real.

And Sabito thought, just for a second, that maybe this whole mountain had bloomed just for that smile.

Chapter Text

They sat side by side on the ground, tucked beneath the thick, cool shade of an old cedar tree. Its roots jutted from the earth in twisting ridges, creating little ridges and hollows that felt like a natural bench.

“It’s cool,” Giyuu murmured, leaning his back against the rough bark. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. A faint breeze rustled through the branches above, carrying the smell of leaves and damp soil.

Sabito tilted his head back, following the sway of the branches. “Mhm,” he hummed in agreement. “It’s usually hot when we train out here. The sun likes to make us sweat.”

“Mm.” Giyuu shifted a little, pulling his knees up to his chest, arms loosely around them. His voice was quiet, almost lost to the wind. “Sabito… I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Sabito glanced sideways. “Yeah?”

Giyuu hesitated, opening his eyes to look out at the sunlit clearing beyond the shade. “What… are you training for?”

For a moment, Sabito didn’t answer. His gaze followed a drifting speck of dust in the sunlight, as if deciding how to shape his words.
Wondering if Giyuu will take it nice considering his past.

“Well…” He hesitated. Bold truth was best, wasn’t it? He exhaled sharply. “We train to fight. To kill demons. Like the one that attacked you and your family.”

He blurted the words too quickly, then slowed with each sentence, watching Giyuu’s face. Confusion shifted to realization, realization to sorrow, sorrow to anger… before settling into something unreadable.

Giyuu said nothing.

Sabito’s stomach twisted. He should have stopped there—but instead he dug the wound deeper. “You could become one too. A Demon Slayer. Avenge your sister and—” His voice broke, faltered. He bit his lip hard, regret rushing in too late.

Giyuu’s knees curled tighter. “I… I think I need some time,” he whispered, pushing himself halfway up before sinking back down. He glanced at the forest, as if searching for an escape, but he didn’t know the way. He turned his back to Sabito, shoulders trembling faintly.

Sabito’s chest tightened. “Giyuu… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

A shaky breath escaped Giyuu. “No, it’s… it’s fine. I do want to avenge my sister. I… I just—” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t do anything then. I was powerless. Useless. It would’ve been better if I had died with her…”

The words hit like a blade. Sabito froze, shame burning hot in his chest, then suddenly all shame gave way to something fiercer—anger, grief, a desperate refusal.

“Giyuu,” he said, voice sharp as steel.

Giyuu flinched, turning his head slightly—just enough for their eyes to meet.

Sabito’s palm struck his cheek in a sharp, stinging slap.

Silence rang louder than the birds above.

Giyuu’s eyes widened, shock freezing him in place. His cheek reddened where Sabito’s hand had landed.

Sabito’s breath came hard, his voice trembling with heat. “Don’t you ever say that again. Don’t you ever think you should’ve died. Do you hear me?”

Giyuu blinked rapidly, throat working, but no words came. His lips parted, then closed again.

Sabito’s hands clenched into fists in his lap. He swallowed hard, his eyes burning.

Sabito’s palm lingered for a heartbeat against Giyuu’s cheek before he pulled it back, fists trembling. His voice cracked, but it rose fierce, stronger with every word.

“If you ever say something like that again—if you ever say it’d be better if you were dead—then that’s it. We’re done. We won’t be friends anymore.”

His eyes blazed, hot and wet at the corners. “Don’t ever say that again. Never.”

Giyuu stared at him, stunned, his lips parted but no sound coming out.

Sabito stepped closer, his voice carrying, sharp and unyielding. “Do you have no one else? To throw words like that—do you realize what you’re saying? You insult your sister.”

Giyuu flinched. His breath hitched.

Sabito pressed on, his voice breaking but louder, rawer: “She was supposed to get married the next day! And even then, she hid you, she protected you, she gave up her life to keep you safe!”

Tears welled in Giyuu’s eyes, spilling over.

Sabito’s voice rose into a shout, echoing through the trees. “And what about that future she lost because of you? The life she gave up to save you?!”

He grabbed Giyuu’s shoulders, shaking him once. “You can’t waste that! You can’t throw it away!”

His voice broke into a cry. “You can’t die, Giyuu. You can never die!”

For a heartbeat the world went still—wind, trees, birds, all muted. Only their ragged breathing filled the space between them.

Giyuu’s body trembled, his eyes squeezing shut as his face crumpled. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words breaking on his tongue. “I’m sorry—I won’t say that ever again. Don’t leave—don’t leave me too…” His arms shot forward before he could stop himself, clutching at Sabito’s haori as if it were a lifeline. He buried his face against Sabito’s shoulder, chasing the warmth he feared would vanish. “Please… I’ll never say it again…”

Sabito froze, his anger dissolving into something softer, heavier. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Giyuu, pulling him close, one hand cradling the back of his head.

“I promise,” Sabito murmured, his voice low, the edge gone but still trembling. “I promise I’ll stay with you forever. But you’d better keep your word.”

Giyuu’s breath came in shaky gasps against him. “Okay,” he whispered, small and fragile.

Sabito held him tighter, the cedar branches swaying above them, casting shifting shadows like ripples of water. For the first time in what felt like hours, both of them were silent—only the sound of their hearts beating close, steady and real.

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

After a while they both calmed down laying lazily into each other.

“Sabito…” Giyuu hesitated, his voice fragile, barely above a whisper. “I… I will do it. I want to be with you. I want to avenge my sister. I want to become stronger.”

Sabito’s chest tightened, a surge of relief and joy flooding through him. The argument had been ugly, harsh words had been spoken—but somehow, it had broken through the wall Giyuu had been hiding behind. He ruffled Giyuu’s damp hair gently, careful not to startle him.

“Okay,” he said softly, though his heart leapt in quiet triumph. “Come on. Let’s go tell Urokodaki. You need to start your training.”

Giyuu swallowed hard, collecting himself. He pushed off from the cedar roots, hands trembling slightly as he reached for Sabito’s sleeve.

“Together,” he murmured, voice barely steady, but full of resolve.

“Forever,” Sabito answered, eyes shining as he offered his hand.

They walked down the mountain side by side, footsteps crunching on the loose dirt and fallen leaves, the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows over the path.

After a while halfway through their destination Sabito stepped.

"Wait..shoot, what are we gonna tell about your face? "

"Ah the truth?"

"What no way Urokodaki is gonna kill me!"

"Then what?"

Sabito thought for a while. He then urged Giyuu to come closer and whispered something in his ear. It was the perfect excuse. He was a genius.

Chapter Text

By the time they got back, the sun was high overhead. Urokodaki and Makomo were waiting outside. Makomo’s face was tight with worry, and though Urokodaki’s mask hid his expression, his posture said enough—he wasn’t happy.

“Where have you been?!” Makomo yelled, running up to them. But as soon as she saw Giyuu, her voice softened in shock. “What happened to your cheek?”

She stepped closer, trying to look at it, but Giyuu flinched and moved nearer to Sabito. Makomo stopped, hurt for a moment, then smiled gently. He just needs time, she thought. I’ll help him open up.

Urokodaki walked forward, calm but firm. “Giyuu,” he said quietly, “please tell me what happened.”

“I… fell into a tree on my way here,” Giyuu said quickly.

Urokodaki blinked, unconvinced. He handed Giyuu a damp towel faster than Giyuu could blink—almost pillar-speed.

“So you just happened to walk straight into a tree?” he asked dryly.

Giyuu hesitated, then glanced at Sabito. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “That’s what the tree told me to say.”

Sabito froze, eyes widening. That brat…!

An hour ago, Giyuu had been crying in his arms, and now he was joking? Still, somewhere deep down, Sabito felt relief—maybe even pride. So this is what he’s like when he’s not crushed by grief, he thought. A little bratty… but alive. He could get used to feistiness

Then he felt Urokodaki’s stare burning through him like fire.

On second thought, Sabito gulped, maybe this wasn’t worth it.

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Sabito was punished with extra training. So much training that it lasted the entire day. By the time he was done, his muscles burned and his arms felt like lead. He could barely move.

When he finally stumbled into the room, Giyuu was lying on his bed, waiting for him—with a smug little smirk.

“Happy, you cocky brat?” Sabito groaned, dragging himself to the futon. “You put me through hell today. I can’t even feel my limbs.”

Giyuu’s smirk softened into a look of guilt. “I’m sorry… but you slapped me!” he said, his voice small but a little defensive.

Sabito sighed, rubbing his face. “Yeah, because what you said was ridiculous.” His voice rose slightly, frustration slipping through—but then he stopped, the memory of Giyuu’s tears flashing in his mind.

Giyuu blinked, unsure how to answer.

“Okay, okay,” Sabito muttered, waving it off. “Let’s not fight again. You’re right. Come here and sleep already.”

He lifted the blanket, making room for him. Giyuu hesitated, then smiled—just a little—and crawled closer.

Sabito felt his face heat up immediately. His chest was warm, his ears even warmer. What’s wrong with me? he thought helplessly as Giyuu settled beside him.

Giyuu chuckled softly, and soon they were both laughing quietly, all the tension melting away.

They hugged without thinking, just holding on, feeling the steady warmth of each other’s bodies. The world outside went silent, the night wrapping them in calm.

Before long, their breathing evened out, and they fell asleep in each other’s arms.