Chapter Text
There is a lot to get used to, Giyuu thinks.
He has to get used to holding his chopsticks with his left hand. He has to get used to the absence of a sword strapped to his waist. He has to get used to a world without demons.
And, he has to get used to sleeping at night.
Demon Slayers are naturally nocturnal, but Giyuu isn’t one anymore. He has to get used to that.
As the sun rises, he, too, shall rise. And the day should begin with opening his eyes, not closing them.
“Giyuu! Good morning! Giyuu!”
Giyuu squints slightly, stirred awake by his crow’s squawking—Kanzaburo—whom he chose to keep as a companion. The senior crow had seen better days, and he couldn’t leave it after the corps’ disbandment. Besides, Giyuu has grown attached to him through the years.
Most importantly, Kanzaburo knows how to tell the time. Giyuu had trouble waking up in the morning.
“Kanzaburo, it’s already noon. You should say Good afternoon instead.”
Or not.
Giyuu blinks awake beneath the layers of his futon, the warmth of sleep still clinging to him. He cranes his neck and sees the room’s fusuma already open, sunlight peering from the garden. Slowly, he sits up and reaches for his haori without thinking.
Then he pauses, dropping it back beside him.
There is no need to hurry. No mission waiting.
Instead, he folds his sheet—a task he no longer considers tedious since he had been doing this with one hand for the past months—and stands, toes sinking into the woven tatami. Languidly, he walks to the engawa where he sees Shinobu with a handful of walnuts. Hair tied up and fresh laundry hanging on the bamboo pole.
Beside her is Kanzaburo, learning a thing or two about time and greeting. “Come on, repeat after me. Good afternoon.”
“Good morning!”
“Good afternoon.”
“Good… Afternoon!”
“Good crow, Kanzaburo. Here’s a walnut for you.”
Methodically, she cracks the walnut by pressing it against her palm and the laundry pole. Then, she pulls it open and gives it to him. Kanzaburo is delighted, and so is Giyuu.
He has a wife now. It is another change to get used to.
It is a wonder, though, that she never wakes him up even if he asks her.
“Good afternoon,” he greets as he leans against the wooden pillar, taking her attention away from the crow.
Shinobu turns to him, purple eyes meeting his blues. Then, she laughs, the sound light and ringing like wind chimes in the day. With a mischievous gleam in her eye, she lobs a walnut across the garden. “Here’s a walnut for you, too.”
Giyuu looks up just in time, one eyebrow raised in amused suspicion. Without a step, he reaches out lazily, as if plucking a falling star from the air. The walnut lands neatly in his palm with a soft thud.
A beat passes. Then came the crack.
With one smooth motion, he closes his hand around it—no strain, no effort—just the sound of splintering shell as the halves break cleanly, revealing the pale treasure within.
He lets out a small hum, holding out the kernel like a peace offering, or perhaps a provocation, and eats it.
Shinobu pauses, walnuts still on hand as her lips parted ever so slightly—not in surprise, but in something deeper, quieter. Admiration flickers behind her eyes.
“Well,” she says slowly, giving the rest of the walnuts to Kanzaburo, “that was unnecessarily attractive.”
Funny, she tells him this over a walnut. Shinobu had seen him slice off demons, and all he got was a poke on the side.
He chuckles, low and raspy since he just woke up. “Just a walnut,” he says, but his eyes hold the glint of someone who knew exactly what he had done.
“And we know where it leads from there,” she replies, turning her back to hang the rest of the laundry. “Giyuu-san, you really don’t know how good you are at that, do you?”
He watches her small frame hang a sheet twice or thrice her size. Tiptoeing as she tries to reach the highest pole. Shinobu has always been like this. Whether it may be laundry or slaughtering demons, she rarely asks for assistance unless necessary.
He exhales softly and gets down from the engawa, slipping his sandals on. “At what?”
Shinobu lets him take the sheet from her hand. Her smile never leaves her face as he finishes the chore for her. “At being my husband.”
He can feel her eyes on his face as heat rushes to the back of his ears. Giyuu dips his face lower, just enough for her to reach him, and he feels the warmth of her lips against his cheek. She no longer smells like wisteria flowers. She smells like the sheets they hang together—maybe with a hint of citrus or lavender, depending on her use of detergent.
Another change to get used to.
Shinobu naturally loops her arm around his. “Let’s have lunch together before I go to the Butterfly Mansion. I prepared your favorite Simmered Salmon.”
Then, he moves closer, thanking her with a kiss on the lips. She hums as she kisses back, teasing him the second after. She whispers a question. “Do you still want me to work today?”
Giyuu smiles. “You don’t want me to answer that.”
Her fingers coil around his sleeves, surprised yet pleased. She laughs merrily at him. “Oh my, you’ve gotten quite daring, Giyuu-san. Not in front of Kanzaburo.” The clueless crow is occupied with opening walnuts to even pay attention to them.
Giyuu shakes his head and helps his crow with the endeavor, taking a walnut and effortlessly cracking it open with one hand. He chucks it to Kanzaburo, who catches it clumsily due to age.
He feels her stare behind his shoulder. “Do you want one?”
“I want to try,” she corrects, taking a walnut for herself. “Like this?” Giyuu repeats it to show her how it’s done, and Shinobu tries to copy it—only to fail in even putting a dent in it. She lets out a breath, surrendering the walnut to him. “I suppose this is one of the few good reasons to have a husband. I get a free nutcracker.”
Giyuu raises a brow, but opens it for her anyway. He places it in front of her mouth, and she happily eats it. “Another?” He asks.
“Another. Last one, to be precise. I don’t want Kanzaburo to think I’m stealing his treats.”
Their days have been peaceful. Today is no exception.
Although he doesn't admit it, Giyuu is still not used to it. Shinobu does a better job at this than he does. Getting used to change, that is.
Back when they were still Hashiras, she was the first one to gather her wits when they fell down the Infinity Castle—the demons’ den. They remained engaged at this point, postponing their wedding until she was sure Muzan’s head had been lopped off. And because of the same reason, Giyuu tried to look for her.
Towers had separated them, and when they finally saw each other on opposite sides of the battlefield, she only raised the ring he gave her, smiled softly, and turned, heading inside a castle that he would learn to be the abode of the Upper Moon Two.
She didn't assure her survival, but at least, in that moment, he was the only thing on her mind.
Their duties came first. Giyuu also turned and ran, sensing an enemy nearby.
Soon, Akaza descended to him and Tanjiro, and the rest was history.
Upon Muzan’s defeat, neither of them thought they’d survive. All he knew was that Shinobu's unconscious body was brought to him, and he almost died of blood loss. They told him her lungs had been severely damaged, but she was still there.
The ring stayed on her finger, too, and so was their promise.
When he regained consciousness, missing an arm, Shinobu was already by his side. Breathing and very much alive, but covered in bandages and sprinkled with scars. He remembered holding her with his one good arm, crying, maybe, and shaking. He could only handle so much. He couldn't handle it if she were to die like his sister and Sabito did.
Shinobu understood this clearly. She hugged him tightly, just enough to let him know she was truly there, and asked, “Giyuu-san, do you want to get married this afternoon?”
He would stare at her. Dumbly.
And he would say yes.
Giyuu was ready whenever Shinobu was ready. Even if he was still in bandages, they got married in the garden of the Butterfly Estate. There were enough people to fulfill various roles. Tengen officiated, Kiriya gifted them their ceremonial attire, Kanroji did her hair, Tanjiro and Kanao picked the flowers, Aoi, Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma dealt with the cooking, and Shinazugawa was in charge of the ohagi.
The rest of the Hashiras and Demon Slayer Corps, who were currently admitted, became their witnesses. Gyomei accompanied her to the altar, missing a leg but holding eyes filled with life, and Urokodaki stepped up as Giyuu’s parental representative.
All who mattered were there. Giyuu, Shinobu, and the people they cherished.
Shinobu prepared a ring for him. Same silver band but with a shiny aquamarine stone embedded in the middle. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Just like your eyes.”
Their wishes were upheld. The wedding was intimate. However, Tengen didn’t let the opportunity to light up fireworks pass. “It’s for your survival, newlyweds! A flamboyant spark for the start of your flamboyant marriage!”
After the wedding, choosing a house to share was an easy pick. Shinobu decided for him. “I’ll move to yours,” she said in finality. “We’re married now. I’d want to separate my private life from my profession. If there’s an urgent case, Kanao and Aoi will handle it until I get there.”
“There are no more demons,” he said, more to convince himself than her.
“No more demons,” she repeated. “We can do whatever we want now, Giyuu-san.”
Giyuu hadn’t considered that before. The dream of ending Muzan had been established. He married the woman he loves. What should come after that?
Despite the change, Shinobu, like she had always been, knew what to do. She became a full-time doctor at the age of nineteen. His wife and his doctor. She did this out of desire and duty, even when Kiriya Ubuyashiki had given them enough money to last until their bones grow old and weary.
Along with time, the Butterfly Mansion is busier now. Survivors, orphans, and a few former slayers who hadn’t known what else to do after the final battle decked into the rooms. Shinobu had thrown herself into rebuilding the medical wing. It gave her purpose. It gave her reason.
But what about him?
“Take your time. Fortunately, we have plenty of it,” Shinobu would say when he first brought it up. Unbothered and calm. He observed the way her smile settled into a comfortable silence. The kind of peace they could only have after they rid the world of demons.
And it was beautiful.
In that brief and subtle moment, he found it. The sole thing he wanted to do. He wanted to protect that smile.
So, at present, Giyuu does whatever he can to do just that.
He makes sure Shinobu is happy. He makes sure to spend a lot of time with his wife. Whenever she goes to the Butterfly Mansion, he makes sure to accompany her. And whenever it is time to go home, he waits under the cherry blossom tree and welcomes her from a tiring shift with a small smile.
“You know,” she says casually, “you don’t have to wait for me every day.”
“I know,” he replies, no longer carrying that crippling ache whenever they reach sundown. “I want to be near you.”
That makes her pause. A few steps of silence pass before she speaks again. “You’ve changed,” she says softly, not teasing this time.
He lets out a breath, closing his eyes. “I know.”
“You smile more. You laugh sometimes, too.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Maybe married life has made him brave in strange ways. Or maybe he simply understands that quiet beginnings, such as theirs, are made possible by the storms they bravely conquered. “I’m trying.”
Shinobu slips her hand into his, her fingers delicate and calloused from years of healing and hurting. He holds her hand like it is the most natural thing in the world.
“I had a stubborn patient today,” she shares, “A boy who insisted he was fine. Tried to run. You’d like him. He reminds me of you.”
“I probably wouldn’t.”
She laughs fondly. She makes it a habit to tell him of her days, and in turn, she frequently asks about his. “Giyuu-san, what have you been up to while I’m gone?”
He tells her that sometimes, he visits the former Hashiras. Sometimes, he goes to the Kamados. They all have this normal civilian life going well, replacing their uniforms with clothes tailored to their nature. Each has their own family to take care of—to be happy and grow old with. And while he tells her this, he unknowingly stares at her face.
“Giyuu-san, you should save such intimacy in the bedroom,” she teases, yet keeps his gaze to hers.
He breaks away, subtly clearing his throat. Their home isn’t too far from the Butterfly Mansion. A thirty-minute walk is all it needed. She likes the distance and their house altogether. It gives them the time to talk and appreciate their surroundings.
And don't let him start with the garden. Shinobu especially likes it. She spends a significant amount of time there whenever they are at home. “You have a koi pond, Giyuu-san? You should’ve told me. Maybe I’d marry you the second after you do.”
As they approach their shared house, Shinobu slows her steps. “You know,” she says, watching a pair of ladybugs fly from one wildflower to another, “There was a time I didn’t think we’d get this. Any of us.”
Giyuu looks at her then, his expression unreadable to most—but not to her. She has learned to see him the way he sees the world—quietly, patiently, deeply.
“We did,” he replies. “You made it real.”
Her eyes soften. And in that moment, between the hush of leaves and the fading sky, she tiptoes to his height and kisses his jaw. “You’re too tall,” she whispers.
He looks at her and bends over to press his lips to her temple. “Shinobu,” he whispers next to her ear, voice low and husky. “You should save such intimacy in the bedroom.”
A pause.
Then her face flushes bright red. Her mouth parts in surprise, caught somewhere between flustered indignation and reluctant admiration. Not for the teasing, but for the fact that he delivers it all so ideally to her type.
He watches it happen with a rare flicker of satisfaction—his lips tugging, just barely, into the smallest ghost of a smile. That alone is enough to undo her completely.
“Who are you and what have you done to my husband?” she asks, half-horrified, half-laughing. She tries to pull her hand away, but he doesn’t let her. He never used to tease. Never used to smile like that. “Uzui-san influences you too much. Are you taking lessons from him?”
“Sometimes,” he answers. “But I learned this from you.”
She covers her face with her free hand. The words land like a spark in her chest. “Careful, Giyuu Tomioka. You’re going to get too good at this,” she accuses, pointing a finger at his chest, but her voice trembles slightly from the heat in her face. “Don’t you start using my words against me.”
“Too late,” he teases again. “I have a convincing teacher.”
She huffs, turns on her heel, and storms into the house—except her steps are far too light to be genuinely angry. Giyuu follows, quietly pleased.
Inside, the lamps are already lit, casting the room in a soft glow. Shinobu stands at the counter, trying to compose herself with all the grace of a Hashira, but her ears are still red.
And Giyuu, taking in the sight of this woman who has once shouldered the weight of vengeance and now blushes over him, thinks to himself how strange and beautiful peace can truly be. And how lucky he is to have found it with her.
He can get used to this.
Shinobu Tomioka.
It has a strange ring to it. The reality of their marriage sinks deeper as days go by.
The first light of morning slips through the shoji screens like a silhouette, pale gold spreading across the futon in slow, drowsy strokes. Shinobu lies on her side, her head resting against the pillow they now share, and her body curled slightly toward the man beside her. Her hand, light and unmoving, rests in the space between them—close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his chest.
Giyuu is still asleep.
His expression is unguarded, softened by rest. His breathing comes slow and deep, like the pull of the tide. Even in sleep, he is steady.
She watches him in silence, letting the stillness settle over them. The ache of the past—the years of blood, loss, and relentless fighting—feels more like a fading echo now. No alarms, no screams in the dark, no scent of demons on the wind.
She never imagined a life like this. She was born into purpose, trained in poison, shaped by grief. Yet somehow, here she is—wrapped in a futon beside Giyuu Tomioka, the man who once tested her patience with his silence. Now, that same silence feels like peace. Like home.
Her fingers drift just an inch closer to his, stopping short of touching. She lets her eyes wander—slow and deliberate. His jawline, strong and clean, has the faint shadow of stubble barely beginning to show. The curve of his lips, usually tight with restraint or lost in thought, now slightly parted in rest. His eyelashes, dark and long, lay still against his skin.
He’s beautiful. Undeniably so. And he’s hers.
The thought makes her heart flutter like a startled moth in her chest. Hers. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes, it startles her more than any demon ever could—how easily she has come to love this version of life. How easily she loves him.
She reaches out at last, lets her fingers barely brush the back of his hand. His skin is warm. Solid. Real.
Giyuu shifts slightly in his sleep, and for a moment she stills, watching. He doesn't wake, but his hand turns instinctively, catching hers in the space between them. He holds on, even in dreams.
Shinobu leans forward, her forehead resting lightly against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.
“We’re really here,” she whispers, the words barely audible in the hush between them. “You and I.”
She stays like that—close enough to feel his heartbeat, still and content—letting herself drift in the quiet. Outside, the wind stirs again, soft and aimless. She doesn’t return to sleep. Because her reality is, irrevocably, better than her dreams.
This is the life Kanae wanted for her. Shinobu finally understands why.
And as she subtly and respectfully marvels over her husband, a thought quickly spurs into a realization.
None of them have said the words to each other yet. The words Mitsuri dreams of every night before she found solace in Obanai.
The words I love you.
Not that it is required—especially for a reasonably reserved man such as Giyuu—but it wouldn’t hurt to at least do it once. He jumped the gun with a proposal after taking down a lower kizuki, and Shinobu didn’t really need any word of affirmation, so it naturally dwindles to the least of their priorities.
Rather than emotional admittance, Shinobu is more curious about what kind of reaction he will give her. Will he smile? Or will he grace her with a chuckle? Maybe even a faint blush will do. Giyuu has been learning from her cunning ways lately. She has to step up a notch.
And besides, guessing his reactions has been her favorite pastime recently. Shinobu likes it whenever he becomes expressive, but she also adores his silence.
Her other hand hovers near his face, pausing before she brushes that stray strand away.
He stirs.
His brow twitches, breath hitching just slightly, and then his eyes crack open—slow, heavy-lidded. He blinks at her, then lets out the softest sigh.
“…You’re staring again,” he murmurs, voice hoarse with sleep.
Shinobu lies beside him, hair slightly tousled from sleep, a quiet curve of amusement tugging at the corners of her lips. She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t pretend she wasn’t watching him.
I love you, she wants to say. But instead, she says, “You drool a little when you're in deep sleep.” Her voice is teasing, but low and warm. Intimate. “You’re very scenic in the morning, Giyuu.” She drops the honorifics whenever they are in bed.
He blinks slowly, still not fully emerged from the haze of sleep, and lets go of her hand to swipe at the corner of his mouth. Dry.
She’s lying.
She smiles wider, caught in the act, and he exhales a slow breath, closing his eyes briefly. There’s no sting in her teasing. There never is anymore. Not like it used to be. Now it’s just part of the way she touches him—words instead of hands, sometimes. A language in itself.
“You’re in a good mood,” he observes, the corners of his mouth not quite smiling—but not frowning, either.
Her smile fades into something smaller. Something real. “I woke up next to my husband instead of in a field full of corpses. I think I’m allowed a little joy.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that. So he says nothing.
“You always stare at me when you think I’m asleep,” she adds, resting her chin in her palm now. “I thought it was my turn.”
Silence settles again, soft and thick. Not awkward. Just… full.
But his chest tightens in that strange, familiar way she always manages to pull from him—like she’s reached into some quiet, locked place inside him and cracked it open without effort. Then he looks at her properly, and the air shifts. His gaze is clearer now, locked onto hers. And he professes, quietly, calmly—
“I love you.”
Shinobu goes still.
Giyuu’s voice carries no tremor, no hesitation. He says it like he’s decided. Like he’s finally allowed to.
She stares at him for a long second. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” he says, eyes steady. “I didn’t know when to say it before. I wanted to be sure you’d still be here when I do.”
Her throat tightens.
It’s not a grand confession. Not a dramatic moment. It’s just Giyuu, freshly awake, hair a mess, voice quiet—and finally telling her what she already knew, and still needed to hear.
“You idiot,” she whispers, leaning in a little closer. “I’m still here.”
“I know,” he says, reaching up to touch her cheek—awkwardly, clumsily, but with such care it still makes her chest ache. “I didn’t think I deserved it.”
“You do,” she says, smiling faintly. “We deserve this. And, if it’s not any more obvious, I love you too.”
She kisses him—slow and warm, her hand curling into his hair, grounding herself in the moment. It tastes like morning and sunlight and everything they are never promised. Everything they stole back from the edge of death.
When she pulls away, he’s still watching her.
She brushes her thumb over his cheekbone. “You’re allowed to say it more than once, you know.”
He exhales, and it might almost be a laugh. “I’m working up to it.”
They lie there a while longer, tangled in warmth and thin sheets, surrounded by the soft hush of a world that’s finally stopped bleeding.
She shifts closer, rests her forehead gently against his. For a moment, they just breathe—two people who survived what they were never meant to survive. Two people who found peace not in the world, but in each other.
It’s still strange, sometimes. Still new.
But it’s real.
“Go back to sleep,” she whispers, closing her eyes. “It’s still early for you.”
“It’s morning,” he corrects.
“There’s no rush now. We have all the mornings in the world.” His arm wraps around her as she says it, and his breathing returns to a lull.
Shinobu Tomioka. She thinks, somehow, without her ever noticing the moment it happened, it stops sounding strange—and starts feeling like home.