Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

Sanemi has trouble addressing the Tomiokas. 

The name has only been associated with one person for years. That number has recently increased to two, and Shinobu makes it a point to be remembered. 

“Oi, Tomioka—” Sanemi calls out one day when he comes to the Butterfly Mansion for his monthly check-up. A prerequisite for retired Demon Slayers by Shinobu. He sees Giyuu with her by the gate, taken in by a conversation, and the two instantly turn to look at him at the sound of their name.  

Sanemi stares at them, and they stare back. 

“Which one?” Shinobu asks with a close-eyed smile. 

There is a brief look of uncertainty on his face before he answers. He points to Giyuu. “You know who it is. The original one.” 

Giyuu blinks, pointing to himself, while Shinobu folds her arms across her chest. “My, I don’t quite like the sound of that. It makes me seem like a counterfeit.” 

“Kocho—” 

“To-mi-o-ka,” she corrects. 

Sanemi ruffles the back of his hair, exasperated, but perhaps in a good way. He hasn’t seen Shinobu this carefree before, and he has known her for a long time. “Shinobu, your husband’s trying to learn swordsmanship with his left hand.” She then looks at her husband, an eyebrow raised. “And I’m here to remind him we have a spar with Iguro this afternoon.” 

One look from Shinobu prompts Giyuu to explain. “I lost my dominant hand. I don’t want to be rusty, so I asked for their help.” 

The call for help came at an unexpected time. It was done between half-filled drinks of Japanese sake and sober former Hashiras in Iguro’s home. They meet like this at least once a month. To catch up on each other’s lives, as family should be. Blood relations or not. Kyojuro wasn’t there since he has been travelling with Senjuro all over Japan, but he would’ve had a great time anyway. 

“I can’t hold a damn sword anymore,” Sanemi would say gruffly. “Not even a wooden one. It just falls outta my grip.”

Tengen Uzui, ever theatrical even with one arm and an eye patch, gave a dramatic shrug. “Try your other hand,” he suggested, flashing a half-smile, half-sneer. “You still have two, don’t you? Train it up. Become ambidextrous — flamboyantly so.”

Sanemi snorted, dry and humorless. “You make it sound like I’ve got time to waste.”

“You do,” Giyuu said then, his voice quiet but steady. “For once, we all do.” 

He raised his cup to his lips, sake smooth and bitter on his tongue. The firelight danced over his face, catching on the faint lines of exhaustion that even peace hadn’t erased. He swallowed, then looked across the fire at Sanemi. “I want to learn that too. I’m not as strong as I used to be, but I want to be able to protect my wife. That’s the least I can do for her.” 

The fire popped, sending a spray of sparks into the night. For a moment, no one spoke. Even Tengen quieted, regarding Giyuu with a look that was more thoughtful than mocking. “We’ll help you, Tomioka.” 

Off to the side, Obanai Iguro sat with his back half-turned to the fire, Kaburamaru curled around his shoulders like a whisper. He hadn’t said much all evening. But he finally looked over, his voice rasping low under the hum of cicadas.

“We were never meant to live this long,” he murmured, hand hovering over the scar on his face. “But since we have… we might as well try.”

A pause, then a glance toward the sound of the kitchen, with Kanroji cooking another round of dinner for them. 

“And protect what’s left.”

Which brings them here. Based on Shinobu’s questioning gaze, Giyuu spoke none of this to her. 

However, the reason justifies the means, at least in this case. Shinobu looks back earnestly, simply hums, and nods in understanding. Sanemi quietly observes, itching to leave since he feels like he’s intruding. 

“Don’t take it too far,” she reminds, offering a grateful smile. “Thank you for doing this, Shinazugawa-san.” Her words hold more weight than her tone. He almost smiles in turn. There is an unspoken explanation—maybe even a personal reason—and he doesn’t ask for it. 

Sanemi knows Shinobu can no longer wield a sword. She cannot strain herself and her lungs. This is something she can’t do for her husband, no matter how much she wants to. 

Swordsmanship and training. Those days have passed for her. 

“Thank you, Shinazugawa,” Giyuu repeats, and the smile on Sanemi’s face halts. 

He sighs instead and enters the Butterfly Mansion. His scheduled check-up with Kanao is due soon, and he avoids another opportunity for Shinobu to tease him. “Whatever. Don’t be late.” 

Shinobu speaks louder, placing her hands on both sides of her mouth in an attempt to be heard. “Thanks for the ohagi as well! Please send Genya-kun our regards.” 

Sanemi waves his hand, keeping his face forward. She never forgets that he brings ohagi for them with every visit.

He hears her laugh softly behind him, full of happiness and content.

And briefly, he remembers Kanae Kochou. 

He remembers the times they just sit side by side and talk about the future. About her hopes for the corps and her sister. In time, everything has been fulfilled just as she wanted. Muzan is dead, and people are happier.

The only one who’s missing is her.  

Sanemi sighs and looks up to the lone Sakura tree in the garden. “You would’ve liked this,” he mutters to her ghost—to the Sakura tree she has loved in a world where demons once walked,  swaying like they remembered her, too. “Bastard’s dead. Finally.”

No answer, of course. Just the wind.

He lets out a breath, slow. The ache in his chest doesn’t go away—it never really does—but something inside him softened, just a little. 

And then, as if summoned by the memory, a butterfly lands on his sleeve—small, white, wings beating like a whisper.

He stares at it.

“...Tch. What a stupid day to be sentimental.” 

But he doesn’t move away. Instead, Sanemi smiles fondly, a simple tug at the corners of his lips, and it stays on his face this time.

The ache in his chest becomes a little less sharp.

Giyuu has taken up a sword again, almost six months after they defeated Muzan. It relieves Shinobu more than she can admit. 

There are signs of his longing to hold one. She never points it out, but she knows. 

One time, she sees Giyuu sit near the low table, a scroll of unread letters from Tanjiro resting before him. His posture is steady, almost too still. His left hand lies open on his thigh, fingers relaxed, but his gaze is somewhere far away—fixed on the sword stand that rests against the wall.

And then it happens.

A movement so small most wouldn’t notice. The barest shift in his left shoulder, an unconscious twitch in his upper back. His breathing catches, just for a moment, the kind of pause that precedes action. The old memory of reach, grip, and draw, all surfacing in that one restrained motion.

But his right arm is no longer there.

And so the moment breaks. He pulls back, subtle but sharp, as if catching himself in the act of remembering too much. His left hand curls slightly on his knee, then flattens again—an effort to quiet the habit. To accept what he already knows.

Shinobu watches him without speaking. He doesn’t know she sees it—these fractured echoes of who he was, of what his body still tries to be despite itself. 

He has also been careful about mentioning Total Concentration Breathing whenever they talk about the old times. Likewise, he’s being mindful, and she appreciates that. But Shinobu can handle the truth. She won’t be too affected by the fact that she can no longer do it. 

Of course, she misses that part of her life, but she loves her current one, too. 

So, she is more than thankful for her fellow Hashiras helping him in that endeavor. He spars with them at least twice a week, and then he makes sure to stop by the Butterfly Mansion afterward to walk her home. 

It’s fulfilling on her part to see Giyuu back in his own craft while also being a great husband. Swordsmanship is something he excels at, and that will always be a part of him. 

Sometimes, he even surprises her by having more than one craft. In other terms, a hobby. 

This hobby of his only shows up when work hasn’t called for her—when Shinobu spends her day with Giyuu at their humble home. When their days begin to feel slow and calm, scented with a hot serving of tea and snacks.

Such as today’s current events. 

"Giyuu-san, Mitsuri-chan left us delicious Western snacks yesterday. Let’s eat it together,” she says, carrying a tray filled with them to the engawa beside their garden. 

She looks around, seeing no one. “Oh? Where could he be?” 

Then, by perfect timing, his crow peeks from a tree branch. “Inside! Shogi! Shogi!” Kanzaburo informs her. 

She smiles at the crow. Kanzaburo is quite the old charmer. “Why, thank you, Kanzaburo. Do you want snacks later?” The crow squawks and flies to her shoulder. She takes it as a yes. “Don’t tell En I’m giving you, okay? She’s sleeping in her nest at the moment.” 

Kanzaburo leans and spreads its wings. Her crow, En, has a closer personality to Giyuu than hers. Shinobu is sure En won’t mind.

Soon, she walks to their common room and finds Giyuu seated cross-legged inside. Expression unreadable. He doesn’t look up at the sound of the fusuma opening, engrossed in the low table in front of him. The pieces of a shogi board are laid out with meticulous order. Though aged, it remains impeccably well-kept, its smooth surface marked with delicate, faded carvings—geometric swirls and intricate lines that hint at years of quiet use. There’s no opponent, only a small book beside him with worn corners and faded ink—Tsume Shogi Problems for the Discerning Player.

Shinobu smiles to herself, amused.

"How serious," she muses, stepping in with tea and snacks, her voice light as always, but curious now. “Did you buy a new board?” 

She knows it's not, but asks him anyway.

Giyuu glances up. Just a glance—his expressions are as economical as his sword swings—yet there's a glint of something that resembles pride within it. 

"It’s an old one," he answers. “You asked me to clean the room at the back the other day."

“I did.” 

“And I saw my old shogi board. I haven’t played it in a long time.” 

Shinobu hums, setting his tea down. “Define a long time.” 

“The last game I played was with Sabito. We played after Urokodaki-san’s lessons.” 

Her gaze drops to his cup. The steam curled upward in slow, delicate tendrils, vanishing into the morning light like secrets whispered into silence. Then, she looks up at Giyuu, concentration still at its peak.

A longing smile settles on her lips. He can remember Sabito without guilt now—or at least that’s what he’s showing to her at present. 

She studies the board with a thoughtful hum and calculating look. “Tsume shogi, huh? Those are the ones where you solve how to checkmate in a set number of moves, right? Little death puzzles.”

He nods. “Three-move, five-move, sometimes seven. No mistakes allowed.”

There’s a quiet beat. Shinobu smirks.

"Play me."

He doesn't hesitate. The board is reset with swift, practiced hands, and they sit facing each other, the game between them like a thin line of challenge. Shinobu is fast, clever, always was—but tsume shogi is not about speed. It’s about inevitability.

She loses in five moves.

Her eyes narrow slightly. Shinobu is not used to losing. “Again.”

In the next match, she tries to anticipate the quiet traps in his mind. She knows how he fights—direct, deceptively slow, always moving toward a silent conclusion. 

She still loses.

She hums, picking up one of her captured pieces and holding it thoughtfully between her fingers. Her resolve burns like fire behind those serene purple eyes. “You know,” she says lightly, “I think you married the most stubborn woman in the entire Corps.” She arranges the pieces back on the board. “Again.”

Giyuu takes a macaron from the tray. “I did.”

“Oh, but I think I married the most insufferably smug one.”

He splits the macaron in half and puts one in her mouth. “You’re projecting.” 

That earns a small scoff as she chews the treat. She plays a silver general and narrows her eyes at the board. “Well, my dear husband, I hope you know I’m letting you win out of kindness.”

“No, you’re not.”

She glances up. He’s not even looking at her—just studying the board, perfectly straight-faced. But she catches the faintest twitch of his lips before he adds, 

“You’re free to tell me that after you’ve beaten me once.”

Shinobu freezes. Then she slowly picks up her teacup. “Giyuu Tomioka, I will destroy you.”

By the seventh match, her tea has gone cold while he has long finished his. Giyuu hasn't gloated once. He just asks, “Again?” 

And it amazes her.

"You've been hiding this from me," she accuses, half-playful, half-incredulous.

“You never asked.” Giyuu shrugs and sets her teacup on the side. Half-empty. “And, your tea is cold. Don't drink this anymore. I’ll brew you another later.”

“Oh, thank you. Please add honey, dear.”

“Okay.”

Shinobu blinks quickly, realizing he had pulled her away from the true topic at hand. She promptly returns to it, frowning. "I assumed you were bad at small games like this. You're so serious."

He looks at her a little more intently, but with an earnest smile. “It’s not a small game. It teaches you where you shouldn’t hesitate.”

She goes quiet at that, and he returns to the board.

“Want to try again tomorrow?” he asks.

She stares at him. Then, a little smile tugs at the corners of her mouth—genuine, a little exasperated, but warm. “I’m going to beat you one day.”

“I know,” he replies, not mockingly—but with quiet belief, like it's already written somewhere in the future.

And so she plays him again the next day. And the next. She never wins.

But Giyuu always leaves her the last move to take her own king. A small kindness, so she never has to hear the words checkmate aloud.

She notices and never says a thing.

Shinobu has been supportive of him for as long as Giyuu remembers. She has been so even before they married. 

Throughout his journey as a Hashira, she had been there. All existing. 

Even after everything, she still is. 

When the corps disbanded, they tucked their uniforms away to the corner of their house alongside their swords—not to be forgotten, but to be preserved. However, when Shinobu discovered he is returning to swordsmanship, she asked him to bring them out from the old room and display it in their common lounge. 

To where people can actually see it. 

“Let’s preserve the memory here,” she says while displaying their swords side-by-side. Sheathed. But they both know the cracks in the metal still exist within. The cracks from the aftermath of his battle with Akaza and hers with Douma. The Swordsmith Village chief, Tecchin, was considerate enough to repair it upon their retirement. “It makes the room more like… us, doesn’t it?” 

She looks at him, expectant. 

Giyuu takes in the room in its entirety, and nods. It really does seem more like theirs. 

It brings out an important side of them as individuals and as a family, because this is their foundation. This is their shared purpose and the reason why they get to enjoy this normalcy. 

It should never be hidden. 

Other than their uniforms and their swords, Giyuu has also reunited with a part of himself he had hidden for years. Tsume shogi. 

Surprisingly, as it may seem, Giyuu genuinely likes playing the game. Tsutako Tomioka taught him the basics, and he evolved rapidly from it. It became a hobby for his pastime that eventually bloomed into a potential profession. 

Tsutako once thought he could be a professional shogi player one day. But things don’t go as planned, and he tucked this wooden board away and picked up a sword. 

Inevitably, both became a part of his identity, and Giyuu would embrace it once more. 

He enjoys it further when his wife takes an interest in it. Ever so supportive. He never says it, but he likes sharing a part of himself with her. Shinobu also never hesitates in challenging him for a game, even after her constant losses. 

“I’ll beat you today,” she always says, but she never does.

Giyuu believes that in time, she will. Shinobu has always been smart. She’ll outsmart him one day. 

In return for her efforts with his hobbies, Giyuu tries to do the same for her. He tries to know more about what she likes to do in her free time. He wants to know what she likes beyond the obligations of the corps, beyond her role, and beyond the face she wears for the world. 

So, for the next days, he observes his wife. There is little to no free time for Shinobu whenever weekdays come, but whenever there is no work, he sees that she usually revolves around reading medical books, doing house chores, and playing shogi with him. 

Then it sinks to him. Slowly, but heavily.

Shinobu either works in her free time by studying or by doing something he likes—playing shogi, that is.

That can’t be, Giyuu thinks. It strikes him straight to his conscience. His wife should have hobbies of her own outside work, right? 

It bothers him, in a way he can’t quite name, that he doesn’t know more.

At this point, he chooses to ask her directly. 

“Shinobu,” he says, voice low but certain, while they sweep fallen leaves outside their home on a Saturday morning. 

She looks up, tilting her head like she always does whenever she’s amused. “Yes, Giyuu-san?”

He pauses, searching for the right words—direct and honest. “What do you enjoy doing in your free time?” 

It takes a few seconds before she replies. “You mean my favourite hobby?” She reiterates the question, and he nods. Her eyes remain fixed on the sky for a few seconds. 

Then she pauses, expression briefly serious until it brightens in a personal revelation. A smile naturally climbs its way to her face—one he’s well accustomed to.

“Hmm… I guess it's you, Giyuu-san,” she answers lightly, her tone silk-wrapped and wicked. “I enjoy you.”

He stands, almost awkwardly, with a broom in hand. A flash of pink appears at the tips of his ears.

She leans in a little more, lowering her voice. “You might not say much, but you’re very entertaining.”

His mouth opens slightly, then closes. He doesn’t know what response he’d been expecting—he rarely does when it comes to her. She has a way of turning his straightforward questions into something far less manageable. 

“I was being serious,” he says.

“And so was I." She shrugs playfully. “But… if you want a more traditional answer,” she adds, voice softening, “I enjoy gardening. Reading, sometimes. Making medicine when I’m not required to. And lately…”

She touches his sleeve gently, grounding him. “Lately, I enjoy trying to figure you out, too.”

Giyuu doesn’t move for a long moment. He knows those already, but he keeps them to himself. Then, slowly, deliberately, his hand covers hers. 

Her answer is one he doesn’t expect, but something he can certainly help with. 

Contrary to her previous response, Giyuu thinks Shinobu has a hobby she hasn’t realized yet. 

It starts with the hydrangeas.

Giyuu is planting them near the edge of their garden, where the soil stays damp and shaded. The sun is low, and the cicadas are quieting. A perfect day for planting. Shinobu says she likes gardening, so he helps her with it. 

She crouches beside him, sleeves pinned up, brushing dirt from her elbows.

"You know," she says casually, handing him another bulb, "this kind of soil is good for hydrangeas… and for the dead. Soft ground, easy to dig. The perfect place for a forgotten body."

What?

Giyuu pauses, glancing at her. Her voice is light, cheerful, almost sing-song. She wears her usual expression, unperturbed. 

“You’re joking,” he says flatly.

“Of course,” she replies. “Mostly.”

He watches her for a moment, then returns to the dirt, tamping it down. 

The second time comes when they are preparing dinner. 

The kettle whistles softly in the quiet of the kitchen as Giyuu stands at the stove, stirring miso soup with slow, meditative movements. Behind him, the shuffling of feet and the occasional clink of porcelain tell him Shinobu is setting the table. 

It’s an ordinary evening, wrapped in the kind of peace that still feels delicate between them.

“Giyuu-san, you didn’t build this house, did you?” She suddenly asks.

He shakes his head, giving her a no. 

“I heard this house was once owned by a woman whose husband never returned from the war,” Shinobu says, lightly, as she places down the chopsticks. “They say she never left, even after death. People claim they hear her humming in the hallways when it rains.”

Giyuu pauses mid-stir, blinking once. He turns his head slightly. “What?”

She smiles, that maddening, secretive smile she always wears when she’s up to something. “I heard it from the neighbors.” She moves on to pour the tea, not missing a beat. “I don't hear any humming though. Have you?” 

Giyuu returns to the stove and shakes his head. Shinobu leaves it at that.

The pattern begins to emerge slowly, like the ghost stories themselves—subtle, creeping, oddly timed.

One time, they're hanging laundry in the sun, and she starts talking about a girl who got strangled by the wind when she left her kimono out overnight. 

Giyuu glances at the fluttering sleeves and uses one more pin than usual to keep it in place.

Another instance happens when they gather mushrooms in the woods behind the house. She points to a patch growing near an old stump and says, “They only grow there because something’s buried underneath. Mushrooms like death. Didn’t you know?”

He does not.

Sometimes, she starts in the middle of something completely mundane—while slicing radish, or sweeping the engawa. “There was a woman who couldn’t stop cleaning,” she says once, brushing the broom softly across the wood. “She scrubbed her floor so much, her skin came off with the soap. But the floor was never clean. Not to her.”

Giyuu listens. Always.

He doesn’t stop her. Doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t press.

He just notices.

Shinobu Tomioka has a hobby of telling ghost stories at random times. She just doesn’t know it yet.

Back when they were still Hashira, he remembers moments like this. A mission briefing around a campfire, where she’d lean forward and whisper, “Did you know this village is built over an ancient burial ground? They say every time someone disappears, another voice joins the wind.”

He’d thought she was teasing the others—especially Zenitsu, who would promptly start shaking like a leaf. But she’d do it even when no one was particularly frightened. Even when she was washing her blade in silence, or nursing a cup of tea alone, she’d let these little horror stories slip like breath on glass, fogging the air between the mundane and the uncanny.

Now, in the quiet of their shared home, he realizes—it’s a habit. A strange, eerie thread woven through the tapestry of her daily life. Not for fright. Not for drama.

But for color. For flavor.

Shinobu treats ghost stories like spices—something to sprinkle lightly over conversation, giving it just the right edge of strangeness. She never lingers on them. Never waits for a reaction. She just drops them into the air like cherry blossoms in the wind.

He doesn’t mention it. But now, he listens more closely.

Sometimes, at night, when she’s brushing her hair beside the window and the moonlight makes her skin look half-there, he wonders if she believes them herself. Or if she simply knows that a good ghost story isn’t about truth, but about presence—a way of acknowledging the things we don’t say, the memories we don’t bury.

And in a world that’s taken so much, maybe this is her way of giving it back. A story. A spirit. A little chill in the air, to remind them they’re still alive.

So he never interrupts her. Not even when she tells another story that evening, over dinner, this time about a spirit that follows people to their houses if they return home in total silence after dark. She tells it just as she picks up her rice bowl, her chopsticks clacking softly together.

“Ne, Giyuu-san, you didn’t talk at all on your way back from Tanjiro-kun’s house today, did you?” she asks without looking at him. 

Why does that ghost story seem like it was made just for him?

Giyuu doesn't respond. He continues to finish his dinner.

But at night, he keeps the windows closed, just in case something wants to come in.

Giyuu has grown used to it, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it. He has adapted to her stories, one way or another. 

The next day comes, and it moves onward to the night. After the hearth has burned low and her voice has grown quiet, he finally says, “You know a lot of stories.”

She turns, just enough for him to see her half-lidded eyes blinking drowsily. “I used to trade them. Ghosts for medicine. My patients liked them better than silence.”

“And now?”

“Now I just like watching your face while I tell them.”

Giyuu blinks idly, head resting on his pillow.

Shinobu leans her chin into her palm, smiling lazily. “You get very still. Like you’re trying to listen for footsteps behind you.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he wraps themselves with the futon and hugs her close. Shinobu hugs him back, amusement painted on her face.

“Are you scared, Giyuu?” 

“Go to sleep, Shinobu.” 

Outside, a breeze moves through the pine trees, quiet and cold. Somewhere in the distance, an owl calls. Then, they hear a sound at the back door. They stare at each other, thoughts aligned. 

Giyuu disentangles from her and arranges his clothes. “I’ll check what it is,” he says, voice low and eyes focused. 

Swiftly, he goes to the back and slides the door open.

There’s nothing there. 

Just wind and a fallen twig. 

He raises his chin and sees En’s nest right above the tree branch bordering their roof. Giyuu can see a tuft of black feathers moving within it. 

Cautiously, he climbs up and reaches for En. The crow is snuggling for warmth in the cold breeze of the night. “Let’s get you inside,” he whispers, scooping her out of her nest.

En opens an eye, then she snuggles closer to his clothes when she realizes it’s just him. 

Giyuu stays a little longer, checking his surroundings with a crow tucked in his sleepwear. When he hears Shinobu calling him to return to bed, he lets out a deep breath and closes the door. 

“Shinobu.” 

“Yes, Giyuu?”

“We need a sturdier nest for En. Her current one is falling off.”

Shinobu peeks from the door of their room with a sleepy smile on her face. “Of course. Thank you for bringing her in. Is that all?” She asks as if she expected something else. “You two look cute.” 

Giyuu merely stares at her, and Shinobu laughs. “Well?” 

“That’s all.” 

“There’s nothing else outside?” 

He exhales, deep enough to pass off as a sigh. “There’s nothing else outside, Shinobu.” 

“Hmm… okay. I believe you.” 

Giyuu only rubs his forehead at his wife’s antics and brings En to their room. He shuts the fusuma and rests for tonight. 

He’s not lying. There's nothing really there. 

But he keeps the window closed anyway, just in case.

Chapter Text

Tanjiro and Nezuko visit the Tomiokas often, but mostly on separate occasions. 

Either they visit Giyuu in their house, or they visit Shinobu while she’s working at the Butterfly Mansion. They rarely have time to catch the couple together in one place. 

It goes without saying that they are immensely grateful for both Giyuu and Shinobu, as a couple and as individuals. They have taken care of them when they were at the lowest point of their lives. When all they could do was beg to be understood, they listened. When their lives were hanging by a thread, they saved them. 

Shinobu might’ve raised her sword against them at one point, but that was already lost in history. 

So, Tanjiro makes it a personal goal to visit them early in the morning to see them together. When the sun rises with a fresh harvest in tow. Nezuko has been planting sweet potatoes for the past month, and they want to share these with them. 

However, the timing is still off. 

“Shinobu isn’t here,” Giyuu says once they ask about her. His bedhead is sticking out, but at least he’s not in his sleepwear anymore. “She had an emergency at the Butterfly Estate, so she spent the night there.” 

Tanjiro masks his disappointment with a small smile. Kanao had written him a letter that she might be busy for a few days as well. That may be it. “I see. Thank you, Giyuu-san. I wanted to give these to her.” 

Giyuu looks at the vegetables presented to him, face unreadable, then he looks up to the siblings and takes them. “Did you plant this?” 

“Yes, Giyuu-san!” Nezuko answers, beaming. “It’s our first harvest. We baked some at home, and it tastes really sweet. Inosuke-kun and Zenitsu-kun really liked it. I’m sure Shinobu nee-chan will like it as well!” 

Giyuu blinks slowly, azure eyes going over to the vegetables. Kanzaburo and En fly over them, each landing on one side of his shoulders. 

They look adorable, Tanjiro and Nezuko think, but they keep this to themselves. The Kasugai crows must've really liked Giyuu. 

Then, Giyuu smiles a little, barely noticeable. “Thank you,” he replies, turning around to place it in their kitchen. “I’m going to the Estate later to share this with them. Do you want to come with me?” 

The Kamados stare at his retreating form, unsure.

“You can bring Agatsuma and Hashibira. Shinobu won’t mind… if they won’t make a disturbance.” 

A grin breaks away Tanjiro’s surprise. “Don’t worry, Giyuu-san! I’ll make sure they won’t!” 

Tanjiro’s visit couldn’t have been timed more perfectly. 

Originally, Giyuu had no plans for the day. He considered cleaning around the house or reading the medical scrolls his wife busies herself with until it’s time to pick her up from work. He thought of visiting Tengen, too, since he heard Hinatsuru is pregnant. However, Shinobu told him the first months of pregnancy are critical, so he should postpone visits to the Uzui’s until Hinatsuru feels better. 

Swordsmanship sparring is also halted since Sanemi and Genya are visiting their family’s graves outside Tokyo, while Iguro is visiting Mitsuri’s family in Kanagawa. 

Seeing how everyone’s doing serves as a realization for Giyuu. Maybe he should also visit his family—his uncle, at least. The one who’s supposed to adopt him after his sister died. He’s also a doctor like Shinobu. 

It had been too long, though. He may have already forgotten about him. 

“Do you mind if you wait for us, Giyuu-san? We’ll sell our charcoal to the market today, then we’ll return to your house so we can go to Shinobu-san together,” Tanjiro says. 

Giyuu slips his sandals on and closes the front door. He carries a small folded paper with him. “I’ll go with you. I have to buy a few things Shinobu asked of me.” 

The siblings beam, more than happy to have him join them. It’s a novel experience for Giyuu, but one he welcomes wholeheartedly. 

They soon reach the buzzing market filled with early risers and eager townsfolk. Giyuu walks a step behind Tanjiro and Nezuko, carrying a basket to be filled with ingredients Shinobu would like for dinner—the familiar weight of silence resting on his shoulders. 

Tanjiro is chattering something about sweet potatoes and how well the coal’s been selling this week. Nezuko nods, her basket swinging gently at her side. 

Giyuu listens, half-present, until a voice from the guard station near the east gate reels his attention away.

“—I swear, if I catch even a fever, I’m going straight to the Butterfly Mansion,” says one of the younger guards, lounging on a bench with his sword still half-untied at the waist. “That doctor, Shinobu Kochou? She's unreal.”

Giyuu’s footfalls slow slightly.

“Mm, seen her once,” another guard says, peeling an orange with a kunai. “Tiny. Sharp-eyed. Pretty as hell. She smiled at me, and I forgot my own name.”

They laugh—loud, careless.

“Bet she’s got ten nobles lined up already,” the first one says. “Or maybe she’s waiting for a swordsman with scars and charm.” He winks. “You know, like me.”

The second snorts. “You? She’d poison your tea.”

“But gently,” he grins. “With elegance.”

“Is she even married?”

“Doubt it. Someone like her? That news would travel.”

Giyuu doesn't stop walking, but something inside him does.

They think she’s not married.

Shinobu has been vocal about the change of her surname, but it seems it hasn’t reached this side of town yet. She rarely walks to this part of the town, too, since the Butterfly Estate is in the other direction. 

Giyuu doesn’t speak. His expression barely shifts. But his pace has changed, the steps more deliberate now, more present. His gaze flicks briefly toward the guards, a few seconds that seem to stretch to more, and then away. 

They haven’t seen the wedding ring she wears on a necklace chain beneath her uniform whenever she’s working, hidden under layers of silk and control. They haven’t watched her fall asleep sitting up, ink smudged across her fingers, only to stir when Giyuu gently pulls the blanket over her shoulders. They don’t know the quiet conversations at dusk, or the rare, unguarded moments when she looks at him like she sees through the storm he’s built around himself—and stays anyway.

They don't know anything about Shinobu. And oddly enough, Giyuu prefers this. 

He isn’t jealous.

Not exactly.

But hearing other men build fantasies around her, speaking her name like it’s something available, something unclaimed—it stirs something in him. A cold thread, not hot enough to burn, but sharp enough to notice.

He doesn’t correct them. Doesn’t turn. He simply walks on, the murmurs of their voices falling behind him like the mist itself—persistent, lingering, easily ignored… but not forgotten.

“Giyuu-san?” Tanjiro looks back at him, blinking. “Are you okay? You got quiet all of a sudden.”

Giyuu eases on the grip of his basket. “I’m always quiet,” he replies, evenly.

Tanjiro laughs, rubbing the back of his head. “Well, yeah. But this is a different kind of quiet.”

Giyuu doesn’t answer. Nezuko watches him with those knowing eyes of hers, but says nothing.

They reach the market square. Stalls open one by one, color and scent filling the street—grilled fish, fresh greens, steamed buns. The day begins like it always does.

Giyuu helps set the coal down. He listens to Tanjiro haggle gently with a vendor and hears Nezuko giggle at something a child says nearby. He nods when spoken to. Answers when needed.

But in the back of his mind, the words echo—

“Is she even married?”

It shouldn’t stay there, but it did. 

Later, when the sun begins to lower, and they bought rice, vegetables, and seasonal fruits, he’ll stop by the Butterfly Mansion as he has always done—not out of suspicion, not out of insecurity—but to watch her work for a moment and go home together. 

Giyuu does this to make sure Shinobu feels treasured, but another purpose has been planted. 

He wants to remind himself of the quiet, immutable fact—She is his.

It doesn’t matter if the world knows it or not.

Because he knows. And she does, too.

“Ah, Giyuu-san,” Shinobu welcomes him with a warm smile as they arrive at the Butterfly Estate. Her expression remains bright, pleased with the familiar faces outside. Zenitsu and Inosuke joined the group halfway, bringing their number to five. “Thanks for picking me up, as always. I see you brought quite the crowd with you.” 

Agatsuma, as loud as always, is the first to greet her. “Shinobu nee-chan! It’s been so long. I think I have a serious heart condition for you to check. You see, whenever I look at Nezuko—”

“Stop saying nonsense, Chuitsu. If your heart hurts, just rearrange your organs!” Inosuke butted in. 

“Shut up! Not everyone can be as impossible as you. And my name is Zenitsu! How can you still get it wrong?”

Tanjiro tries to mediate. “Come on now… the two of you promised not to bother Shinobu-san when you’re here.” 

“Tanjiro-kun?” Kanao peeks from the door, smiling as soon as she sees her friends. “Oh, everyone is here!” 

Aoi wipes her hands on her apron, puzzled. “What is it, Ka—Huh?” She blinks, surprised to see the group. Soon, Sumi, Kiyo, and Naho join in, and now they are all huddled by the entrance.

Giyuu stands at the side, his expression placid, but his eyes are fixed on Shinobu. 

She laughs lightly at something Tanjiro says, her lips curling at the edges in that familiar, delicate smile. Inosuke is gesturing wildly, probably arguing, while Zenitsu hovers too close and too loud, desperate for attention. And yet, Shinobu doesn't seem annoyed. If anything, her patience blooms with every word.

As if feeling his eyes on hers, Shinobu looks up and meets his gaze. “Giyuu-san, do you want to stay the night?” She asks, taking the basket from his hold and replacing it with her hand. “I heard there’s a terrible storm coming.”

“A storm?” Nezuko almost frets. She raises her eyes to the sky, seeing dark clouds cover the entirety of it. “Did I bring the laundry inside?” 

“Don’t worry, we brought it inside since Chuitsu said he could hear thunder from a mile,” Inosuke assures. 

“You didn’t fold it! You literally just threw it inside,” Zenitsu scolds. “I folded them neatly, Nezuko-chan. I did a good job, right?” 

“You did great!” 

Shinobu watches them with longing. Her fingers idly brush against Giyuu’s as a suggestion climbs out of her mouth. “All of you should stay over,” she says. “We have spare rooms, and I finished an emergency case. Let’s not risk your safety since you’re already at a hospital.” 

A second after she says it, lightning strikes the skies, followed by a thunderous roar. They immediately run inside the house. 

Giyuu pulls her gently, pushing the bothersome feeling away. “Let’s go, Shinobu.” 

Shinobu looks at him, finally shedding her signature smile and replacing it with concern. She makes sure it’s just them before she asks, “Giyuu-san, did something happen?” She raises her hand and cradles his face, thumb brushing his cheek. 

He doesn’t know how, but she just knows him. Too well, in fact. 

Giyuu can’t lie to her, so he nods slowly, tilting his cheek to press his lips against her palm. “Something did, but it’s okay now.” 

“How so?” 

“Because you’re here.” 

Shinobu examines his face for signs indicating otherwise, but relents when she sees none. She sighs and walks with him, stepping inside the Butterfly Mansion. “I think the ingredients you bought for days will only suffice until tomorrow. We have mouths to feed.” 

“Then let’s go to the market together,” he suggests.

“After the storm?” 

“After the storm.” 

The storm crashes down mercilessly.

Wind howls through the trees, shaking the Butterfly Mansion to its bones. Rain pelts the roof in relentless waves, and thunder growls low across the sky like some distant beast. Shadows dance along the paper walls as lanterns flicker and dim.

Eventually, the storm passes on its second day, but the aftermath remains in everything—in the bowed doors, the warped fences, and the exhaustion clinging to the villagers’ faces.

The Tomiokas know they still can’t go home. Not when people need them. 

Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke help those who had their homes in tatters, while Nezuko assists Kanao and Aoi with everything they need as patients pour in. Shinobu and Giyuu cover the areas beyond what the others can handle. She focuses on medical aid while Giyuu handles the heavy lifting. Even former kakushis helped with the endeavor. 

At present, Shinobu explores the other side of town, maneuvering carefully over scattered debris—a broken bucket, half a shutter, wet straw. She carries a satchel of medicine for an elderly patient who'd slipped during the rain, but her pace slows as she rounds the bend and sees him.

Giyuu.

He’s crouched beside a fractured outer wall, sleeve rolled up, quietly aligning a plank with practiced precision. His hair is damp from sweat, pulled back haphazardly, and his jaw is flecked with sawdust. 

But he isn’t alone. A few people are lingering around him. 

He says nothing to them—to the women behind him—and just works with that same calm, untouchable presence that always makes him seem a little further away than he actually is.

It’s then that Shinobu hears them.

Two women on the porch, young—maybe in their early twenties—hands over their mouths like schoolgirls.

“Did you see how easily he lifted that beam with one arm? That man’s carved out of stone.”

“And so quiet. Mysterious. I bet he’s tragic.”

“Tragic men kiss best.”

Shinobu’s eyes narrow just a fraction—displeasure shadows behind her features. It’s simply a wonder how people still have time for this after a brutal storm. 

She’s not jealous, though. Not at all.

But unsettled. Like hearing someone hum a lullaby in the wrong key.

One of the women notices her while Shinobu recognizes them as daughters of her elderly patients. “Oh! Kochou-san! We didn’t hear you walk up.”

By usual events, she would’ve corrected them. It’s Tomioka-san now. But a part of her wants to keep this charade. After all, there are better ways to tell them about it.

So, she smiles, polite as lacquered porcelain. “Well, you were… deeply engaged in observation.”

The other woman giggles. “You have to admit—he’s very handsome. Do you know him?”

“Hmm.” Shinobu tilts her head. “A little. We cross paths.” Every day at home.

“He doesn’t talk much,” the first sighs. “I like that in a man. You could say anything to him, and he wouldn’t judge.”

“Or respond,” Shinobu murmurs. Her voice is light, sweet, and perceptive. Giyuu may not talk much, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a sarcastic opinion of a person. 

They don't catch the undertone.

“Should we bring him tea?” one of them asks. “Or offer him a room for the night? Just in case he’s… lonely?”

“Perhaps,” Shinobu says smoothly. “But I wonder… how much are you willing to wager on your chances?”

The women blink at her.

She steps closer, folding her hands behind her back like a curious child. “Let’s make it interesting,” she says. “A bet. I’ll walk over to him now—and if I can get him to kiss me before he finishes hammering that board in, you’ll admit defeat.”

“Excuse me?” one of them laughs.

“I’m only a little curious,” Shinobu says. “You all seem so sure of your charm. I wonder how it holds up in comparison.”

The women exchange a look, then smirk.

“You’re on,” the bolder one says. “You’ll never get a kiss out of him. He looks like he hasn’t smiled in years.”

Shinobu’s smile doesn’t waver. Instead, it stretches to amusement. “You may want to watch closely, then.”

She turns and walks down the short slope to where Giyuu is kneeling, carefully aligning the next nail.

He hears her before she speaks—his head turns slightly, just enough to catch her approaching steps.

“I thought you retired from carpentry,” she says softly.

Giyuu doesn’t look at her right away. “They needed help.”

“And so naturally you volunteered. Shirtless, I assume, before I arrived?”

He raises an eyebrow.

She leans down, brushing a bit of sawdust from his shoulder with two fingers. “You’re attracting attention, dear.”

Giyuu shifts his gaze to the wooden plank, not daring to look at the women behind. “I noticed.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?”

“It’s an unnecessary conversation, Shinobu,” he says, effortlessly denting the plank with a nail. He puts enough pressure to keep the nail in place while he takes the hammer.

Shinobu considers his words carefully. This is Giyuu subtly judging them by saying they don’t matter at all. Not worth a conversation or a concern. 

A chuckle slips out of her mouth. She tilts her face toward him—just enough for her voice to drop low. “Kiss me.”

His eyes narrow, and he places the hammer on the ground. “Now?”

She glances over her shoulder, where the two women are pretending very badly not to stare. “Yes. Consider it a favor. I’ll explain later.”

Without hesitation, Giyuu straightens up. His hand slips to her waist with a familiarity that startles the onlookers, and hers comes to rest against his chest, over the slow, steady beat beneath it. He doesn’t rush it. He only looks at her once, eyes steady, asking silently—Are you sure?

She nods.

And then he kisses her.

It’s brief, but unmistakable. No confusion. No mistaking what it means.

When he pulls away, she pats his chest and says, “Thank you, darling,” with maddening composure before turning back up the slope. Giyuu returns to his hammer and tries to finish the work. 

The two women are frozen—mouths open, utterly stunned.

Shinobu clears her throat gently. “Well?”

“…Y-you know him?” one stammers.

“I’m married to him,” Shinobu says, smiling as she retrieves her satchel. “But don’t feel too bad. He’s very quiet about it.”

She steps past them, her footsteps light, almost musical. But inside, the unease has settled. Not because she needed to prove anything.

But because, occasionally, it’s good to remind the world what is hers.

And more importantly—

To remind him that she enjoys the claiming.

By late afternoon, the heat has sunk low and heavy into the ground, turning the dirt paths golden and quiet. The village hums with the muted rhythm of evening chores—water being drawn, shutters re-hung, soup beginning to boil. 

Slowly, things begin to settle quietly after the storm.

Shinobu finds Giyuu again just outside the Butterfly Mansion, seated at the engawa where she expects him whenever he waits for her to finish work. 

“Done for the day?” she asks, joining him, her sleeves gathered neatly around her wrists. “Did they ask you to repair an entire house after I’m gone?

His face remains stoic, but it brightens subtly when he hears her voice. “Not a house, but a fence,” he clarifies.

“How many fences?” 

“One.” 

“And that took you a whole afternoon?” 

“I work slowly.”

Shinobu hums. “So I’ve noticed.”

She crouches beside him, legs tucked elegantly beneath her, and watches the wind blow past the fringes curtained over his eyes. She looks at him, inspecting the littlest details of his face. He doesn’t glance at her. He’s pretending he doesn’t know what she wants.

Predictable. Infuriating.

Charming.

“So,” she says, casually, “how many kisses did you hand out today?”

He pauses. Only for a moment. Barely enough to be called hesitation. “One.”

“How generous of you.”

“I try.”

She leans in, elbows on her knees, chin in her palm. “You didn’t ask why.”

“Should I?” He asks instead. “You said you’ll explain.” 

She clicks her tongue. Giyuu is finding new ways to win conversations. “You’re insufferable.”

This time, the corner of his mouth almost twitches into a smile. But close enough to count if you knew him well—and Shinobu knows him better than anyone. “You married me.”

“You know I can’t say anything against that. I never question my decisions,” she counters, frowning. “You made quite the impression,” she continues. “Those poor girls probably think I’m a witch.”

“You did bet them you could seduce a man mid-carpentry.”

“Not seduce,” she corrects sweetly. “Kiss.”

“Is it different?”

Shinobu rolls her eyes. “You could at least pretend to be caught off guard. Or, if you’d rather, just flirt with me in public—throw a wink, blow a kiss. We can practice now, if you want, Giyuu-san.”

Giyuu stares at her, used to her teasing but still equally baffled. 

“Come on now. Don’t be shy.” 

He leans a little to his side while he observes the storm-free sky. Instead of answering, he pursues the previous topic. “When you asked me to kiss you, it didn’t catch me off guard.” 

Shinobu lets him divert her attention. “Hmm? And why is that?”

He glances at her, bangs brushing the bridge of his nose due to the wind.

“Because you’re my wife.”

She pauses, feeling the weight of his words better now that he said them. The wind settles around them, dwindling to a whisper amongst the trees.

A soft smile tugs at her lips. “So if I asked you to throw me into a well, you’d do that too?”

Giyuu blinks at her, responding a little too late. “… How deep is the well?”

Shinobu lets out a sharp, amused breath and nudges him on the side, light-hearted and harmless. He doesn’t flinch. “Perhaps we should wear our rings,” she ponders aloud, taking out her wedding band that’s chained to her necklace. “I was afraid I might lose it while I'm working, but I found something more troublesome.” 

He raises his chin, eyes half-lidded in the last of the sunlight. “You’re right. It is troublesome.”

She narrows her gaze, thoughts clicking in. “So, you knew all along?”

“I do, but I kept quiet because—” he halts, finally letting the quiet curve of a smile appear—something he may have gotten from her. “—it was fun watching you get what you want.”

That stuns her into silence. Just long enough for him to stand, brush off his hands, and turn toward the inner rooms of the estate.

She recollects herself, head turning to her husband’s back. “Where are you going?” 

“To grab sweet potatoes. Tanjiro brought them for us, and Aoi-san boiled them while we were out.”

“Wait, Giyuu-san. You forgot something.”

He glances over his shoulder just in time to catch her wink and blow him a kiss.

For the first time in a long while, Giyuu lets out a soft, genuine laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling with quiet joy.

The day ends, and the Tomiokas walk back to their home. 

The sole change to their demeanor is how they wear their wedding rings. They chose to wear it properly this time—to their left ring finger, as it should rightfully be.

Shinobu fills the quiet journey with small observations—the color of a flower box they pass, the crack in the temple’s lantern post, how one of the shopkeepers has started stocking her favorite type of tea again. She talks because she knows he listens, while he listens because he grows to like the sound of her voice. 

They round a corner near the outer edge of town, to the marketplace to buy ingredients for dinner, and Giyuu’s eyes flicker—just slightly—as the same pair of guards from before come into view.

He recognizes them instantly.

The one who talked about “goddess in a lab coat.”

The one who said, “Is she even married?”

They haven’t noticed him yet. Or her.

Not until they speak.

“There he is,” one of them mutters, nudging the other with his elbow. “The man who helped fix the wall today. You remember him?”

“Oh, yeah. Quiet guy. Dead serious. No smile, no talk. The ladies like him, though.”

“I heard he regularly goes to the Butterfly Mansion. I told you, he’s trying to catch the doctor’s eye. They’re walking together.”

One of them squints and gapes in disbelief. “Shinobu Kochou? I didn’t think that woman would give him the time of day.”

Giyuu slows a fraction. Shinobu does not. 

She glides forward, her voice smooth and warm and utterly composed as she says, “Oh? And why shouldn’t I?” 

The guards blink. Then both scramble to stand up straighter.

“Kochou—Kochou-sama!” one of them stammers.

She smiles at them. Sweet. Unbothered. But Giyuu knows that smile. It’s the same one she wears when diagnosing a patient seconds before delivering a bitter tonic.

“I’m surprised,” she says, glancing between them. “I thought soldiers were trained to speak only when necessary.”

The second one flushes. “A-Apologies, ma’am. We were just—”

“Gossiping?” she offers.

They both go quiet.

She lets the silence stretch just long enough to tighten the rope.

Then—pleasant as if she’s complimenting the weather—she says, “I wouldn’t worry about that one trying to catch my attention.” She gestures slightly toward Giyuu without looking at him. “He already has it.”

One of them blinks. “…He does?”

Shinobu lets her smile grow. “Mm. For years, actually.”

The guards shift awkwardly.

“I’m married to him,” she says lightly, raising her hand to show her wedding ring. “Has no one told you?”

They stare. One of them coughs.

Giyuu says nothing. Doesn’t flinch. He stands beside her like stone, eyes unreadable—but Shinobu can feel it in the air around him—the quiet amusement, the slight tilt of his energy that tells her he’s not entirely unaffected.

She continues, still polite. Still elegant.

“But please—go on. What was it you were saying earlier about my husband and the time of day?”

The guards look like they want the earth to swallow them whole.

“N-Nothing, Kochou-sama. Deepest apologies.”

“Of course,” she says. “You’re forgiven.”

She turns, and without another glance, begins to walk again—Giyuu falling into step beside her, as if the entire conversation were a passing breeze. The lanterns above them begin to flicker on, catching in the gold of her hair and the edge of his haori.

Several paces later, when they’ve rounded another corner and the guard station is behind them, she asks without looking at him. “You heard them, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“This isn’t a first, is it?”

He nods. She’s always been sharp.

“Did you plan to tell them?”

“... I didn't know how to handle them without resorting to my sword.”

“Of course,” she sighs, almost fondly. “Thanks for avoiding violence, my dear husband.” Giyuu has trouble handling conflicts unrelated to demons. It requires a more complex solution—more talking as well. 

Although she appreciates that he's willing to get physical if necessary.

“Mm,” she hums, tapping a finger to her chin. “Giyuu-san, in times like these, you should use a direct approach. Maybe I should have kissed you right in front of them like I did to those women ogling you and your well-toned arm.”

His answer is immediate. “You still can.”

She glances sideways at him. He’s not smiling. Not even a twitch. But she knows that tone—flat as pond water, with a ripple of dry humor underneath.

She bumps her shoulder against his lightly. “Now you’re the one being scandalous.”

“No one’s around,” he says, deadpan.

“I’m a married woman.”

“You said so yourself.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. A subtle smile plays on her lips, too gentle to be called smug—too sharp to be innocent.

She leans just a little closer, and asks, voice soft as silk—

“Do you want me to?”

Giyuu’s hand slips gently around her wrist, the touch feather-light but firm enough to halt her next step. She blinks—half surprised, half expectant—as he turns toward her fully.

There’s no hesitation in him. Just a quiet certainty, the kind that settles low in the chest and doesn’t need to be explained.

He leans in, and in the hush of the twilight street—half-hidden behind the curve of a paper lantern and the cool evening breeze—he kisses her again. 

He feels her grinning mid-way through, her hand still clutching her basket filled with vegetables as she kisses back. It’s clumsy, a little breathless, and entirely perfect.

No flourish. No dramatics.

Just Giyuu.

Steady. Real. Entirely hers.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t say anything. He never needs to. But the way his gaze lingers—just a little longer than usual—speaks louder than words.

Shinobu’s smile widens, softer now. 

“…Well,” she murmurs, smoothing her sleeve as if nothing scandalous at all just happened in public, “I suppose that answers that. Do you want to continue this at home, or do you want to have dinner first?” 

“...” 

“Giyuu-san?” 

“Don’t make me answer. You know I can’t lie to you.” 

And hand in hand, they walk on—leaving behind the lanterns, the guards, and the last of the village’s whispered misunderstandings.

Chapter Text

Iguro encounters the Tomiokas often after the corps disbanded, more than when they worked together. Odd, isn’t it?

At the moment, they’re in his house. Again. 

“Thanks for the help, Tomioka-san! I cracked the trellises when I tried to do it on my own,” Mitsuri says, cheerful as Giyuu fixed it for her. She wanted to refurbish their garden.

Iguro hears Giyuu’s sandals against the ground. “Kanro—” Giyuu pauses, and Iguro feels his stare. “—Mitsuri, if you need to move it, hold it on each side. Don’t use too much force. If you need help, just write to me or Shinazugawa.” 

Shinobu whispers to Iguro, “Did she put too much force in it, Iguro-san?” They are seated by the garden, on standby if Giyuu needs extra hands. Literally. 

“She did. It made her upset because it’s her fifth try,” he answers, feeling Kaburamaru slither to Shinobu’s shoulder. The snake has always liked Shinobu, asking for head pats whenever she’s around. “I suppose losing an arm isn’t a hindrance to Tomioka,” he says. “Carpentry with one arm? It’s unheard of.” 

“I’m used to it, so it doesn’t come as a surprise,” Shinobu replies, pleased as she pets Kaburamaru on top of its head. “A strong storm hit the town once, and he helped the townsfolk with the heavy lifting. Since then, everyone comes to him whenever they need help.” 

Iguro lets out an amused sound. Giyuu really has changed. 

But it’s not only him. Everyone has. 

Iguro, for one, has grown accustomed to relying on Kaburamaru for his sight. Losing his eyes was a small price to pay if they could kill a bastard like Muzan. He thought it’d be a challenge at first, but Kaburamaru and Mitsuri made things easy for him. Not once had Iguro felt like he really lost. 

“Let’s live happily, Iguro-san. Together.” Mitsuri would say, and the rest was history. 

What used to be his dreams—to live and laugh with the woman he loves—becomes his reality. Iguro considers himself tremendously fortunate to have survived and lived longer than he intended. And fortune does favor him more when Mitsuri agrees to be his wife. 

However, he does miss seeing her smile. 

Aside from Mitsuri, his friends have also been supportive—particularly the Tomiokas. Shinobu constantly ensures and monitors their health. And while Iguro rarely says much about the other Tomioka, Giyuu has quietly been a huge help whenever Mitsuri requires it.

Like carpentry. Something he can’t do. 

It frustrates him, of course, that he can’t do the same for Mitsuri. 

Shinobu returns Kaburamaru to him, wrapping it around his shoulders. “Do you know what else is unheard of, Iguro-san? A blind man who can cook and walk without assistance. It’s amazing, don’t you think?” 

His fingers twitched slightly, caught off guard. His lips part at the beginning of a word, but nothing comes. He presses them closed again. He can’t see it, but he knows Shinobu is smiling at him. “Save the teasing for Tomioka, Shinobu.” 

“But I’m not teasing you, Iguro-san. I’m complimenting you. I haven’t seen Mitsuri-chan so happy before.” 

Then, his mouth curved into a small smile underneath his mask. It’s a wonder how Giyuu handles a perceptive woman like Shinobu. “Wait here, Tomioka.” 

“Hmm? Which one?” 

“Both. You’re a Tomioka now, aren’t you? A weird choice, though.” He hears Shinobu laugh fondly at that. 

With Kaburamaru’s guidance, Iguro steps back inside the house and returns with a long, cloth-wrapped item. 

“Oh, thanks for bringing it, Obanai-san!” Mitsuri says brightly when she sees him. She turns to Shinobu and continues, “It’s late, but we prepared a wedding gift for you two while we’re in Kanagawa.” The soft shuffle of her sandals follows, quick and eager—she's running to him.

Shinobu and Giyuu stand beside each other, curious about what it is. 

Inside the cloth lies a hyōsatsu—a wooden nameplate, hand-carved and lacquered. It bears their surname, Tomioka, in elegant carving. Above it, a single wisteria flower has been painted in soft, muted hues—Shinobu’s mark, delicate and enduring. While below, the faint symbol of water curls in pale ink—Giyuu’s, flowing and constant.

“Iguro carved it,” Mitsuri says with pride. “Every letter, every line. I helped paint the flower and the water crest, but he did the form by hand.”

Shinobu steps forward and crouches, her fingers hovering just above the surface before she touches the grooves of the nameplate. “You carved this by memory?” she asks, lifting her eyes to Iguro. 

He inclines his head, his voice low and even. “Yes. I memorized the name. The shape of each kanji. Then I carved them the way I remembered them—until Mitsuri tells me it’s finished.”

Giyuu looks carefully at the nameplate. His eyes linger on the characters, then flicker toward Iguro—just once.

“It’s beautiful,” Shinobu says quietly, awed and touched. 

Mitsuri beams. “It’s for your gate or wherever you want to put it.”

Shinobu smiles at that—genuinely, this time—and Giyuu’s hand finds hers without needing to search. The kind that holds meaning without needing words. He likes it. 

Mitsuri clears her throat. She fidgets slightly beside Iguro. “Anyway, Kanagawa is really beautiful, Shinobu-chan. You should go there sometimes! There are so many delicious local delicacies and clothing.”

Shinobu tilts her head, amused. “Hmm… I see. Like a vacation, Mitsuri-chan?” 

Mitsuri feigns innocence, but the sparkle in her eyes gives her away. “What? Me? I’m just saying…” Her voice rises half an octave as she gestures vaguely with both hands. “The air is good, the food is good, and there’s a ryokan with private hot springs and—well—you two never take time off!”

Iguro lets out a quiet hum. “You two work too much.” 

“Right! You need a breather,” she admits, exasperated. “You haven’t gone on a honeymoon as well, and we got married months after you did.” 

Shinobu gives a small, knowing laugh. “We’re fine staying at home.” 

Mitsuri mumbles something unintelligible.

Giyuu glances at her, then back at the nameplate in Shinobu’s hands. “We’re not the vacation type,” he says, though it doesn’t sound like a firm protest—more like a gentle excuse. 

“I know,” Mitsuri says gently. “But maybe that’s why you should go.”

Shinobu goes quiet, thoughtful. She looks at the nameplate again—something about it, carved from memory and care, makes it feel like more than just a gift. It’s a marker. A beginning. 

Or maybe a permission.

There’s a brief lull, filled only by the breeze stirring the wind chimes hanging near the porch. Shinobu sets the nameplate down beside her and leans just slightly into Giyuu’s side, the contact almost imperceptible—but it’s there.

“We’ll think about it,” she says finally, voice softer now. “Maybe it’s time we stopped waiting for the right moment.”

Giyuu nods. “Maybe the moment is already here.”

And Mitsuri, watching them with a hand over her heart, exhales like she’s just seen a wish take shape.

“A vacation… should we, Giyuu-san?”

Shinobu asks right after Giyuu puts the hyōsatsu outside their home, a hand tucked under her chin. “Everyone seems to be traveling apart from us. Mitsuri-chan shared stories about Kanagawa. Iguro-san enjoyed the trip, too.” 

He blinks at her words, silently considering them. His wife isn’t the type to go on vacations. She has always been one to choose work over everything else. 

And, he goes wherever she goes. That’s all. 

“I didn’t mind skipping the honeymoon,” she adds nonchalantly. “We’re quite passionate in fulfilling marital obligations in bed, more often than normal couples, I’d say.” 

Giyuu almost cracks the hyōsatsu. Almost. 

“Shinobu,” he calls, wary that someone may have overheard. 

“Hmm?” She isn’t affected by it, though. Not at all. 

He stares at her, waiting for any kind of fluster. When there is none, he sighs and redirects the conversation. “Their house is full of photographs,” he simply says, careful and considerate. “Do you want the same for ours?” 

She pauses, lifting her gaze in genuine surprise. 

When they helped Mitsuri with her garden, they saw how Iguro’s common room was filled with photos—with memories of their trip with the people they love. Giyuu didn’t miss how Shinobu lingered at each frame. 

He raises his hand and brushes her hair softly, keeping it from her eyes. “I saw you staring at them.” 

She presses her lips to a thin line, caught perfectly in his words. She leans to his touch and exhales. “You’re right. I do want the same for ours.” 

Giyuu turns his gaze toward their home. Though it's filled with objects and trinkets they gathered during their time as demon slayers—remnants of who they once were—it bears little trace of their life together. The tangible sign of their marriage are the rings they wear and the nameplate the Iguros gave them.

It reminds him that they barely went on dates as a couple as well. After he proposed to Shinobu, they have been occupied with their responsibilities. There was little time to be… in love and carefree. 

He shifts to her, unconsciously brushing her cheek with his thumb. She hums softly, smiling at his gentle touch. 

Perhaps, this also comes as a perfect opportunity to bring up a thought unexpressed. 

“Shinobu,” he starts, expression softened, “there’s a relative I want you to meet.” 

Her eyes widened slightly, surprised to hear him mention a relative for the first time. Giyuu rarely spoke of his past, except for the occasional reference to his sister. But instead of pressing him with questions, a serene, grateful smile spreads across her face.

“Of course, Giyuu-san. I’d be honored to meet your family.”

“Our family,” he corrects. He drops his hand to his side. “It’s my uncle. He’s a doctor just like you.” 

Her smile widens. “Do you know where he lives?” 

Giyuu raises his eyes. A memory plays vividly in his mind. “Back then… after Tsutako nee-san passed away, I wore thick clothes and packed heavily. My uncle sent men to bring me to Hokkaido. I ran away in the middle of the journey, and Urokodaki-san found me.” 

Shinobu freezes, realization sinking in. “... Hokkaido? Giyuu-san, are you sure?” Hokkaido is significantly far from their place, and winter is coming.

Giyuu looks down at her and blinks. “I’m not, but I can verify his whereabouts with Kiriya-sama.” The information network of the Ubuyashiki Family runs deep within Japan’s history. He’s sure they will have answers in no time. 

Composing herself, Shinobu clears her throat. “I’ll need to plan this carefully once we confirm your uncle’s exact location. We’re not just visiting family, after all. Oh, and pictures! Let’s take several of them.”

She continues, seamlessly shifting into logistics—discussing what clothes to pack for the approaching winter, souvenirs to bring, and the notable tourist spots they might visit along the way.

He watches her, half-lidded blue eyes quietly tracking the faint movements of her growing excitement.

When she notices, she pauses—then offers a warm smile. “Let’s make many memories, Giyuu-san.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “As many as you want.”

As the days pass, the Tomiokas continue their careful preparations for the trip. When Giyuu reached out to Kiriya for help in locating his uncle, it took less than two days to confirm that he was still living in Hokkaido. Now nearing his fifties, the man runs a clinic in the city as a seasoned doctor. 

“We should bring him delicacies you can only find in the Kanto region,” Shinobu suggests one rainy morning over breakfast.

Giyuu finishes his tea, hesitant about gift-giving. “Shinobu, can I—”

"—Yes, Giyuu-san. I’ll choose for you," she finishes for him, and he nods, grateful.

There’s little time before they leave. A week at most. A little after the rain and a little before the snow. Their clothes have been packed, and Giyuu has written to Urokodaki that he will be visiting his uncle. The former Hashira bid him a safe travel and well-wishes of a reunion. 

Urokodaki wrote, “It’s not an easy decision to return to what you have left. Remember to be honest with your feelings, Giyuu, whatever the outcome may be.” 

Giyuu glances at Shinobu as he remembers the words—the sole reason for his courage to meet an old face. 

Shinobu catches his eye, and she tilts her cheek, smiling. “What is it, Giyuu-san? Did you hear a lady humming from the hallway?” 

He blinks, subtly remembering her ghost story about rain and hallways. He turns to the hall as if he really tried to listen to it. 

Instead, he hears a whimper. His head tilts slightly—just enough to show he’s heard something.

A sound. Subtle. Easy to miss beneath the downpour.

Giyuu sets his chopsticks down. “Did you hear that?”

Shinobu follows his gaze. Her nonchalance disappears. “What is it?”

He doesn’t respond. He’s already standing—already sliding open their front door.

And then he hears it again.

That whimper—closer now, tucked just beyond the steps. Giyuu looks down and sees a small bundle of fur shivering in a puddle. 

A puppy.

Giyuu blinks at it. The puppy blinks back.

It’s a Shiba Inu puppy, he guesses.

He glances over his shoulder just as Shinobu emerges, her haori fluttering faintly in the damp wind as she walks with an umbrella. “Giyuu-san, it’s raining. You should—”

She stops short the moment she sees it.

"—Oh no," she says flatly. "Absolutely not."

Giyuu says nothing, letting the rain pour over his head. He crouches slowly, careful that he might scare it off. It watches him with wary eyes, its tiny chest hitching with shallow, trembling breaths.

Shinobu folds her arms, keeping a wide berth. She inches closer to her husband, distant enough to be away from the puppy and to cover him with an umbrella. "Giyuu-san, you know my stance on furry animals, or things that chew on furniture and pee in our geta."

“It’s alone,” Giyuu murmurs, barely audible over the soft patter of rain. “How did it get here?” 

“By a miracle, it seems.” Her voice is taut, laced with the kind of strained patience she usually saves for administering antidotes to stubborn patients. "Your last encounter with a dog wasn’t typical. It latched onto your hand and wouldn’t let go."

That much is true. Most bark, snarl, or flee in his presence. But this one doesn't seem afraid. When Giyuu reaches out, the puppy doesn’t recoil. It licks his fingers, tentative and warm.

Shinobu sighs. “Dear, you must be kidding.”

“If I am, you should be laughing.”

She certainly isn’t.

The puppy lets out a soft, hopeful yip and takes an unsteady step toward him, tail giving the tiniest wag. Giyuu lifts it carefully, cradling the muddy creature like it’s made of glass. It rests its head against his chest, as if it has already decided this strange, unreadable man is home.

“It likes me.”

“It does, which is odd,” she mutters. But even as she speaks, her eyes soften just a fraction. It’s fleeting, gone before the rain stops falling. She exhales like she’s surrendering a battle she didn’t plan to fight. “Fine, but I’m reminding you that we’re leaving for a week, Giyuu-san. You know we can’t adopt it.” 

Giyuu nods solemnly, gently running a thumb along the puppy’s muddy back. It lets out a sleepy sigh and curls into him.

Shinobu turns on her heel, muttering something about towels and mud. Giyuu stays a moment longer in the doorway, the rain easing into mist around him, with a small, unlikely warmth pressing into his chest.

Shinobu has never been particularly good with furry animals.

It starts with Kanae—her older sister, her light, her constant—who is severely allergic to dogs. As children, they avoid the strays that linger at the edge of town, the ones with soft eyes and wagging tails. While other children laugh and chase barking pups through sunlit streets, Shinobu keeps her distance, not out of fear, but out of necessity. A single brush of fur could send Kanae into a breathless, coughing fit, and Shinobu learns that some things are simply off-limits. 

Dogs, like certain kinds of happiness, are a danger she learns to live without.

Even after Kanae is gone, Shinobu avoids dogs. At first, it’s a habit. Then it becomes a ritual.

And finally, it’s just who she is.

However, things have changed. The man she married is fond of dogs, even if most do not like him. 

Except for one.

Six days before they leave for Hokkaido, Shinobu walks inside their home and sees an unsuspecting sock on the ground. 

Not hers, of course. Shinobu keeps her things immaculately arranged. But when she sees one of Giyuu’s socks—still damp, freshly chewed, and somehow dragged into the center of the hallway like a trophy—she nearly steps on it.

She knows who the culprit is. "In this house, we pick after what we drop, young man."

From the corner of the corridor, a small head peeks out. Round eyes. Upright ears. A tail that thumps twice against the floor.

The puppy.

It scuttles forward with that clumsy, too-fast enthusiasm it hasn’t grown out of yet, plops down in front of her feet, and drops another sock. This one, she realizes with dismay, is hers.

She stares at it, then at the puppy. "You're lucky you're cute.”

The puppy's tongue lolls out in a happy pant.

She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t step around it this time either.

The next day comes, five days before they leave, she lingers in the engawa after lunch, watching it tumble around the garden like it’s trying to chase every leaf at once. Giyuu sits across, immersed in shogi with a cup of tea cooling in his hand. 

The puppy bounds up to him every few minutes, as if checking in, tail wagging furiously, then sprints away again on wobbly legs.

“He’s going to make a mess of my hydrangeas,” Shinobu observes as she’s in another losing game. “You have to fix it if he does, Giyuu-san.” 

“I will,” Giyuu answers as he wins again.

A silence settles between them, light and easy. In the garden, the puppy misjudges a leap and tumbles face-first into a bush. Shinobu hides a laugh behind her sleeve. 

Later, when Giyuu gets up to retrieve him, he comes back alone.

“He ran off?” Shinobu asks, alarm flickering before she can catch it.

“No,” he says and steps aside.

The puppy trots behind him. Not toward him, though—but toward her.

It’s not an accident. The little creature—mischievous, muddy, and smelling faintly of crushed grass—hops right into her lap. No hesitation. Just settles there like it belongs.

Shinobu freezes, but soon recollects herself. “Look at this mess,” she says, but her hands come up anyway, brushing leaves from its fur.

The puppy looks up at her, eyes big and adoring. She tries not to meet them, but fails. 

She glances at Giyuu, who’s watching everything like a pleased elderly person. She knows that look. 

“Giyuu-san, don’t look at me like that.”

“Like how?” 

“Like this puppy on my lap. We have to find its owner.” 

Giyuu says nothing. But there’s a flicker at the corner of his mouth. 

He wants to keep the puppy.

Four days before they leave, the Tomiokas venture into town. Shinobu walks carefully, her haori held just out of reach of the damp, scruffy puppy trotting between her and Giyuu.

They’ve asked shopkeepers, but no one recognizes the dog. It pants happily, oblivious, tail wagging as it sniffs everything—especially her.

She flinches slightly when it brushes her leg.

“He likes you,” Giyuu says with a small smile.

“He has questionable judgment,” she replies, but doesn’t move away.

They pause near a dango stand. Shinobu sits on the low stone wall while the dog curls beneath her feet. Giyuu stands quietly beside her, watching people pass.

“No one’s coming for him,” she says.

“Maybe there’s no owner.”

A long silence.

“I still don’t like dogs.”

“I know.”

She glances down. The puppy is asleep now, twitching lightly. “…But I’m trying.”

Giyuu looks at them and then goes to buy dango for two. Soon, he sits beside her and offers the treat.

Shinobu takes it without a comment. 

Three days before their scheduled leave, the afternoon is unusually quiet.

Clouds crowd the sky, heavy with the promise of another rainfall, and the wind carries a scent Shinobu doesn’t like—wet earth and broken leaves. Something dangerous.

Giyuu left early to ask any of their fellow Hashiras if they could look after the puppy while they’re gone. He said he wouldn’t be long. That was hours ago.

Left alone with the dog, Shinobu moves through the rooms, barefoot and restless. She doesn’t like silence like this. Not after the puppy.

She calls out once, soft but firm. “Come here, little one.”

No paws tapping against wood. No excited yips. Just that heavy silence.

A knot begins to tighten in her chest.

She walks faster now, calling again, louder. It’s difficult since they haven’t given it a name. “Little one, where did you go?”

No barks. No sound. The door to the back garden is cracked open when she swears she had closed it.

Then she hears it—faint, high-pitched. A yelp.

Something drops cold into her stomach.

Quickly, she’s outside, sandals forgotten, hair whipping across her face as the wind picks up. “Calm down, Shinobu,” she reminds herself, her voice unsteady, cracking at the edges. 

The yelp comes again, this time from the slope near the creek that runs along the far edge of the property.

And that’s when she sees it.

The puppy—mud-caked, soaked, and trembling—is trapped at the base of a shallow drop, water rushing faster than usual from the early rain. One paw caught between two rocks, struggling and slipping.

It lets out a terrified whimper.

Shinobu doesn’t hesitate.

She’s down the embankment in seconds, kimono catching on brambles, and knees sinking into cold mud as she reaches the edge. “No, no, no—hold on—”

The puppy sees her, its eyes wide, panicked, pleading.

“Stay still,” she breathes. Her fingers are trembling. She never trembles. “Please…”

The water rushes by, eager and merciless. One wrong move and the current could take it.

She wades in.

It’s freezing. Her breath catches, teeth grit as the icy current bites into her legs, soaking through every layer. She slips once, cuts her hand on a jagged stone, but doesn’t stop.

She can’t stop.

Frustration simmers beneath her skin. She used to be incomparably faster back when she could still use Total Concentration Breathing. Now, she feels her limitations more.

When she finally reaches the puppy, it’s barely clinging on. She pries its paw free and checks the leg. It’s just scraped and bruised. It whines as she lifts it into her arms, soaking her front and shaking uncontrollably.

“You reckless little thing,” she whispers, voice breaking. 

She stumbles back up the slope, clutching the small, soaked body against her chest. The moment they reach solid ground, she collapses onto her knees, cradling the puppy tight and pressing it close like she can warm it through sheer will.

She tries to breathe better, to cope with more than what her lungs can handle. “You almost died,” she chokes out. “I told you not to go outside alone. You can’t—you can’t just leave like that—”

Her breath hitches.

What am I doing? This puppy can't even understand her. 

Tears spill before she can stop them, hot and silent. 

She hasn’t cried like this in years. Not even for herself. 

But she’s crying now, arms wrapped tight around this small, helpless creature who somehow, without permission, made a home inside her heart.

The puppy lets out a soft, apologetic whine and nuzzles into her soaked collarbone.

Shinobu squeezes her eyes shut and pulls it closer.

“You scared me,” she whispers, shaking. “I thought I lost you…”

The puppy licks the underside of her chin, trembling but alive.

Shinobu stays there for a long time, soaked to the bone, muddy, scraped, and cold—but safe, and not alone.

By the time Giyuu returns, the moon starts to replace the sun. His haori is damp from the returning drizzle. He moves without sound, feet soft against the wooden walkway, until he reaches the threshold of the engawa.

Then, he halts.

He sees Shinobu wrapped in a blanket, legs folded beneath her, hair a damp, tangled mess around her shoulders. Her haori is set aside, stained with dirt and torn at the hem. Her hand cradles the puppy, who is fast asleep in her lap, wrapped in another, smaller towel. Clean now, though still shaking every few breaths.

Giyuu’s eyes flick immediately to Shinobu’s bandaged hand. The bruise on her forearm. And the tremor she’s trying to hide. She hears him, but keeps her gaze on the puppy. “Welcome home, Giyuu-san.” 

“You’re hurt,” he says, low and sharp.

She smiles. “It’s nothing.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “It’s not nothing. I’m worried about you,” he replies, and kneels beside her, close enough that the warmth of him cuts through the chill still clinging to her skin. His gaze drops again to her hand. “You’re shivering, Shinobu.”

“I’ve been through worse.”

“Shinobu,” he stresses.

She exhales, her shoulders sinking slightly, the fight easing out of her like steam. “He almost drowned,” she explains, barely audible. “I got to him just in time. But if I’d been even a minute later…”

Her voice cracks, and the sentence never finishes.

Giyuu doesn't push her to. Instead, he reaches into his haori and drapes it over her shoulders. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, barely looking at him.

He lowers himself wordlessly onto the wooden floor and gently wraps his arm around her, keeping her in place between his legs.

She stills, briefly surprised by the gesture. His chin brushes the top of her head, and she feels the soft rhythm of his breath against her hair.

The puppy stirs in her lap, letting out a tiny sneeze. Shinobu adjusts the towel around him, more protective than ever, and leans against Giyuu. 

“He needs a name,” she murmurs. “Something… proper. Not just ‘puppy.’ It’s ridiculous we waited this long.”

“You didn’t want to name him,” Giyuu says softly.

“I didn’t want to get attached.”

“But you are.”

She lets out a breath. “Yes. Obviously.”

He considers her, then looks down at the little bundle curled in her arms. “How about Yuki?”

She goes silent, finding its meaning. “Snow?”

“He came to us in the rain, but snow will come after,” he explains, brushing a finger along the puppy’s fur. “He’s here to stay.” 

Shinobu stares at the little creature—alive, safe, fragile, and fierce all at once.

“Yuki,” she repeats. "It's a good name." 

The wind shifts, and the rain thickens again.

Giyuu tightens his hold slightly, a wordless reassurance. His arm isn’t heavy, but it’s unyielding—like a shelter built around her. 

“You really were worried about me,” she says, almost teasing.

“I still am,” he replies, and this time, there’s no evasion. “You scared me, too.”

Shinobu doesn’t speak. She only snuggles closer and exhales—a gesture enough to say I know.

They sit that way as night falls—the three of them wrapped in layers of quiet warmth, and the worst of the rain behind them.

The next morning breaks slowly, all soft gold and pale mist. The rain has finally passed, leaving the garden damp and glistening, with leaves heavy from the night’s downpour. 

Shinobu wakes with Yuki pressed against her side like a living heat pack. The puppy’s head rests across her hip, one paw thrown across Shinobu’s stomach like he’s claiming his territory. His tail twitches every few seconds, even in sleep.

She doesn’t have the heart to move him, but they’ll still leave in two days. They have to plan where to leave the puppy. 

She moves quietly, pushing herself up on one elbow.

“You’re awake.” 

She turns her head and sees Giyuu standing by the doorway. He’s holding a tray while En and Kanzaburo fly to the room. They perch on one of their beams, looking curiously at the puppy.

“Tea?” he offers.

“Please.” 

He walks over and sets the tray beside her. There’s a cup of tea—her favorite blend, she notices—and a small plate with two rice balls, neatly wrapped in seaweed. 

Shinobu smiles endearingly. “You should do this every day.” 

“... If I wake up early, I’ll try.” 

She chuckles and takes the tea. It’s hot and perfectly steeped. The steam alone is enough to ease the tightness in her chest.

Yuki stirs at the smell, blinking blearily and letting out a high-pitched little yawn. Then he promptly wriggles his way onto Shinobu’s lap, tail wagging against the blankets.

“He reminds me of you,” she says as she strokes behind Yuki’s ears. The puppy melts into her, nuzzling her stomach. “You can either calm me down or keep me on edge.” 

Giyuu doesn’t know how to respond to that. 

So, he brings up a new yet related topic. “I talked to Rengoku,” he says. “He volunteered to look after Yuki while we’re gone.”

She tilts her chin, bemused. “Rengoku-san? I thought his father dislikes animals.”

“We won’t bring Yuki there,” he clarifies, reaching over to brush a knuckle gently against her cheek. “Rengoku will come here. He’ll watch over the house and feed the koi fish as well. He doesn’t mind.”

Shinobu looks over at their pond and then at Yuki. “We should bring Rengoku-san souvenirs. Several of them.” 

Unknowingly, Giyuu has solved most, if not all, of her concerns with that one statement. Suddenly, breathing feels a lot easier now.

She shifts to him, something tender flickering behind her tired eyes. “Are you always this good at taking care of people, or is it just me and Yuki?”

He answers with a small smile. “I have exceptions.”

Something in her chest shifts. She reaches out and tugs lightly at his sleeve. “Sit with me.”

Giyuu complies instantly. They sit shoulder to shoulder, Yuki curled up between them now. The warmth from the tea, the blankets, the puppy, and the steady presence of Giyuu beside her start to lull her again.

“…You know,” she murmurs, voice trailing, “I never thought I’d fall for something small and fuzzy.”

“You didn’t.”

She lifts an eyebrow.

“He fell for you,” Giyuu says.

Shinobu blinks, glances at Yuki nestled in her lap, then back at him. “…You’re not talking about the puppy anymore, are you?”

He only breathes out, evading her eyes.

Shinobu laughs softly, her expression easing as she leans into him.

Yuki shifts with a sleepy sigh, his tiny limbs sprawled across them both. En flies and curls deeper into her little nest, content. And Kanzaburō rises, wings spreading as he glides toward the garden and disappears into the leaves.

In the hush of moments like this, their marriage writes itself—not in vows or objects, but in warmth, closeness, and in the quiet grace of each other's company. 

Chapter Text

Kyojuro Rengoku arrives at the Tomiokas at dawn with a bag, a suitcase, and several boxes of bento. 

“Take these, Tomioka! You can’t go on a long trip with an empty stomach!” He declares—charitable and always kind. 

There’s a beat of silence. Giyuu looks down at the bundle, then back at Rengoku—who’s practically radiating satisfaction. There’s no arguing with him. More importantly, there’s no point in trying.

Giyuu relents and bows slightly. “Thank you, Rengoku.” 

He carries the bentos without question. They're stacked high enough to cover his face. 

Likewise, Shinobu is more than happy to accept it. Giyuu may not look like it, but he eats the same amount as Rengoku does. “My, your generosity knows no bounds, Rengoku-san. Do you want anything in Hokkaido?” 

“Kombu!” Kyojuro answers immediately. “Kelp in Hakodate is second to none! Any seafood will do, actually! 

Shinobu thinks he needs more souvenirs than just kelp, but she keeps it in mind.

Kyojuro has long since retired from the front lines after his encounter with Upper Moon Three. Shinobu recalls Tanjiro’s swollen eyes and Inosuke’s tears under his boar head mask after their mission on the Mugen Train. Zenitsu told her he wasn’t there when they fought, but he was equally devastated. 

All were injured—Kyojuro more so. He became the Butterfly Estate’s longest-staying patient—and that wasn’t a feat worth mentioning.

“Shinobu-san, please… help Rengoku-san,” Tanjiro begged her, forehead and palms on the ground. No matter how much the girls tried to pull him up, he stayed there, absolutely broken. “Rengoku-san… he bought us time until sunrise! He almost—augh… He evaded Akaza’s arm, but he’s bleeding too much. I-I don’t know what to do... Please, Shinobu-san!” 

Fortunately, Giyuu was also at the Butterfly Estate when Rengoku was brought in—barely a week after he had proposed to her. He reached out to Tanjiro’s shoulder and gave it an affirming squeeze. It was one of the rare times Giyuu showed that he was furious. 

It was a silent anger, but a deep one. 

“Shinobu will take care of Rengoku, Tanjiro, so raise your head. We will handle the kizuki for him.” 

And they certainly did. 

Kyojuro lost his left eye and could no longer fight—his organs too damaged to endure battle. Then, he was in a coma for six months, only waking days after Muzan's defeat. Tanjiro could hardly believe it. None of them could. But Kyojuro had always been a man of miracles.

Shinobu smiles softly. This same man is now happier than ever. He has traveled far and wide across Japan, exploring what his mother used to tell in her stories. “Thank you for agreeing with our request, Rengoku-san. If it gets too tedious to look after the house and Yuki, you can ask for Kanao’s help.” 

Kyojuro laughs, shaking his head. “Nonsense! I have been on the road for months now, Shinobu! It’ll be a joy to watch over your house. The least I can do for you two. Besides, I won’t be alone since you have many animals!” 

Shinobu glances at Giyuu when he says it. Giyuu blinks slowly at her, unaware. 

In perfect timing, tiny paws run toward them.

Yuki barrels forward through the underbrush, a blur of excitement and boundless energy. He lets out a sharp, triumphant bark.

“Yuki,” Shinobu calls softly.

The puppy skids slightly on the gravel, then pushes himself faster, his little legs pumping with all the strength they can muster. He flings himself at Shinobu’s legs first, then circles Giyuu, leaving behind little dust clouds in his wake. Finally, he comes to a halt before Kyojuro, tail wagging so furiously in excitement.

Kyojuro laughs—loud and full—as he kneels, letting Yuki jump up and place tiny paws on his broad chest. “A loyal little warrior!” he beams, scratching behind the pup’s ears. “I see I’ve been welcomed by the finest guard in the land!”

Shinobu watches them play. Somehow, they give similar vibes. “Rengoku-san, I heard Senjuro-kun enrolled for formal schooling. How is he doing?” 

Kyojuro lifts his head at the mention of his brother. “He has! And he’s thriving.” He stands, carefully setting Yuki back on the ground, though the puppy protests with a playful yap. “At first, he was shy—nervous about being away from home—but now he’s already made friends. He told me just last week that he joined the literature club.”

Shinobu’s lips curve in a small, pleased smile. “That sounds perfect for him. He always had a quiet, thoughtful nature.”

The smile on Kyojuro’s face remains. “He’s classmates with Muichirou! Did you know?” 

The Tomiokas look at each other. They did not. 

Shinobu raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Muichiro-kun? That’s unexpected. I suppose it makes sense—they share the same age.”

“He wrote me a letter. It was… very polite.” Giyuu says, turning to Shinobu. “He’s asking if I can practice kamikiri with him, since he heard I’m sparring with Shinazugawa.” 

Kyojuro chuckles, brushing invisible dust from his haori. “Kamikiri is a good hobby! I can join you since it’s an easy workout.”

Yuki barks again and begins nosing at a fallen leaf, tail wagging furiously. 

“You know,” Shinobu says absently, watching Yuki chase its own tail, “it’s strange to think of all of them growing up like this. I still half expect to find Senjuro with ink on his nose and Muichiro asleep under the training hall steps.”

Kyojuro’s expression softens. “It is. But it’s a good kind of strange. It reminds us what we fought for.”

A comfortable silence settles between them, broken only by Yuki’s playful barks in the grass.

Giyuu raises his eyes. “We’ll bring back souvenirs for them, too.”

Kyojuro’s smile deepens. “They’d treasure it! Thank you, Tomioka.” 

A little later, they give him a brief tour of the house. Kyojuro lights up when he spots their Nichirin swords displayed in the common room, visibly heartened by the familiar sight.

Afterward, Shinobu walks him through the care instructions—first for the koi, then for Yuki—her tone calm but thorough. She finishes with a firm look and a pointed warning.

“Rengoku-san, when I say one bowl, I mean this bowl,” she says, holding up the small dish meant for Yuki. “Not the one you use for your own meals. Are we clear?”

She isn’t worried about the crows—En and Kanzaburo are low-maintenance, and Kyojuro takes good care of his kasugai crow. It’s the dog and fish she’s concerned about. Like overfeeding them.

Kyojuro only salutes in response, full of confidence. But she quietly hopes he won’t fall for Yuki’s shameless, puppy-eyed begging. Giyuu falls for it every single time.

“Safe travels, Tomiokas!” Kyojuro calls out, waving cheerfully with Yuki tucked in one arm. From the carriage, Giyuu and Shinobu wave back, their smiles faint but sincere.

“He’ll overfeed the dog, won’t he?” Shinobu asks. 

“... Probably.” 

Giyuu had ridden trains before, but during all the joint missions he and Shinobu undertook as Hashiras, they never once traveled by train. 

This is the first. 

From Tokyo, they board the northbound express in the early morning, under clouds that hang low and heavy, swollen with the promise of snow. Though they have two seats facing each other, Giyuu chooses to sit beside Shinobu. The bentos occupy the one across from theirs.

“Can’t bear to be apart from me, I see,” she teases. 

“It’s either you or those,” he replies, pointing at Rengoku’s presents. “I choose you.” 

“My, that’s very bold of you, Giyuu-san. It’s nice to know I’m more important to you than food. However, I should move before something scandalous happens.” She starts to rise, just to tease him, but he catches her gently by the arm, keeping her in place. 

“Scandalous?” he repeats, voice dry. “We’re just sitting.”

“That’s how it always starts.”

He finally turns to her, and there it is—the faintest lift at the corner of his mouth. On Giyuu, it might as well be a shout.

“Then don’t start anything you can’t finish,” he says.

Shinobu stares back and then cups his jaw, scrutinizing his facial features. “Who are you, and where is my silent and awkward husband?”

He shrugs, calm as ever. He lets her toy around his face, lets her tilt his cheek left and right. “Maybe it’s the altitude.”

“We haven’t left the station.”

“Then maybe it’s the company.”

She narrows her eyes at him, suspicious. She lets go and huffs. “…You have been spending too much time around Uzui.” But she doesn’t move away. Instead, she settles in closer with a small, contented sigh—half amused, half pleased.

Outside, the snow begins to fall. And inside, a scandal is narrowly avoided.

Soon, the conductor’s whistle slices through the quiet, signaling their departure. The city slips away, slow and steady. Tile-roofed houses recede into the distance, replaced by wide, empty rice fields laid bare by the turning season.

Giyuu and Shinobu share a pair of bentos—though it’s mostly Giyuu who eats—as they watch the changing landscape flicker past their window.

The train carries them steadily north. The countryside stretches in quiet waves—bare trees like ink-brushed lines on a scroll, narrow footpaths winding through sleeping fields, and crows circling soundlessly above. 

As the train rounds a gentle bend, Shinobu leans toward the window.

"You know," she begins, turning her head toward him innocently, "this stretch of track we're passing through—there's a story about it."

Giyuu looks at her, his gaze calm but attentive. 

Here they go again. 

She continues, voice dropping to a lower, conspiratorial register. “They say a girl once boarded this train alone, many years ago, right around winter. Pale little thing, long black hair, silent the entire trip. The only thing she did was stare out the window and whisper something no one could quite hear.”

"Whisper what?" He asks, more out of habit than curiosity. 

She taps her lip thoughtfully. “Names of the other passengers on board. The strange part is—every time she said someone’s name, they’d vanish. Just disappear from the train car like they were never there. Seat empty. Luggage gone. No one remembers them, not even the conductor.”

The train curves slightly, tilting its weight toward each other. For a moment, it feels like the whole world is just this car, this seat, this story unfolding between them.

“What happened to her?" 

“She got off at a station that no longer exists,” Shinobu replies, her tone light but her eyes gleaming. “A stop that doesn’t show up on any map. And when they tried to look into it later, there were no records. No logs or ticket.” 

A pause settles between them. The train whistles faintly through a tunnel. The lights flicker—only for a moment—but long enough for Giyuu to glance upward, then at her.

Shinobu just smiles.

“You made that up,” he says flatly.

“Did I?” she whispers, resting her head on his shoulder. “Better not fall asleep before me… just in case.”

He sighs through his nose. But he places his hand over hers, fingers interlacing. 

Giyuu chooses to remain awake throughout the journey, keeping watch as Shinobu sleeps peacefully beside him.

By the time they reach the northern towns, the light has shifted. The sun slips behind clouds heavy with snow, casting everything in a muted silver glow. During a brief stop, Shinobu buys them tea and rice cakes from a station vendor. Giyuu doesn’t ask, but she offers him the larger one. He accepts—though a little too eagerly to hide it.

Shinobu smiles, eyes closed. “Giyuu-san, you’re smiling too much. I’m afraid the ladies around me might fall for you again.”

Giyuu covers his mouth and eats in silence.

Their final leg brings them to Aomori by dusk, where gray skies deepen to violet. The harbor stretches out before them, and the ferry looms at the dock—steam curling from its funnels into the air. 

Occasionally, Shinobu takes a few pictures from tourist photographers, consequently taking dozens at the same time. 

“Giyuu-san, you’re too stiff. Just act like usual,” she says, paying the photographer for another shot. 

“... But I’m always like this.” 

Despite the protests, they end up with a stack of pictures. Giyuu slips a smaller one into his pocket. “I’m keeping this,” he says softly.

Shinobu chuckles and does the same. “I’ll save this for my office at the Butterfly Mansion.” 

The photo captures them standing before the massive ship—Shinobu’s arms wrapped around his waist, and his arm draped casually over her shoulder. They’re caught mid-movement, deciding their next pose, and somehow, this candid moment becomes the best shot of all.

As they step onto the ship, snow drifts down—melting as soon as it touches Shinobu’s glove.

She looks up, voice gentle. “Ne, Giyuu-san, do you remember? You proposed to me under the snow. Since that day, I’ve started to like winter. It reminds me of us.”

The ferry horn bellows—a low, resonant sound that cuts through the quiet between them. Around them, other passengers shuffle past, boots heavy on the metal deck. Snowflakes settle softly on shoulders, wool, and steel.

She moves to the railing, eyes fixed on the dark sea below. The snow clings to her sleeves now, pale against the deep black of her uniform coat.

“I remember,” Giyuu says, reaching out to brush the snow from her coat. “I didn’t plan on proposing. Not that night, at least.”

She tilts her head, curious. “What made you change your mind?”

The ferry groans again, louder this time, the sound rolling over the bay. Below, the water laps steadily against the hull.

“I thought if I didn’t ask you then, I might never get another chance.”

She exhales softly. “You always thought everything was temporary.”

“I used to be, but not anymore.”

Behind them, a crewman calls out sharply. The engines hum low and deep, vibrating beneath their feet.

Shinobu straightens, brushing snow from her husband's sleeves. Then, they enter their room and set their bags down.

“We’ll be in Hakodate before dawn, and soon, we’ll meet your uncle. Have you prepared yourself?”

“I don’t think I ever will be.”

She chuckles at his honesty. “That’s fine. I’ll be with you. The delicacies will serve as a buffer, but I’d rather wait until after we speak to him—to see if he’s worthy of them.”

Without another word, she sits at the edge of the bed, slips off her gloves, and pats her lap. “Come. I’ll take watch this time. I know you haven’t slept at all.”

Hooded blue eyes linger on her lap, then on her face. 

She reads him like an open book. “You can’t be shy about a lap pillow.”

Giyuu hesitates for a moment, then slowly lowers himself down, resting his head lightly on her lap. The warmth from her coat seeps through the fabric, a stark contrast to the chill that clings to the ship’s steel walls.

Shinobu’s fingers thread softly through his hair, steady and comforting. The gentle rhythm of her touch begins to soothe the tension knotted in his shoulders.

He closes his eyes, the weight of the day finally settling, and for a moment, the world feels quieter—safer.

“Thank you,” he says after a while.

“For what?” she asks, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. 

“For being here.”

Shinobu’s smile widens. “Always.”

Outside, snow continues to fall, blanketing the ferry in a quiet stillness, as if time itself has paused just for them.

Winter, once again, begins.

Shinobu learns that her husband’s uncle lives in the heart of Hakodate, a city in southern Hokkaido. It takes them half a day after the ferry ride to reach it. 

His name is Kiyoshi Tomioka—a local doctor, known for his quiet dedication and the deep respect he holds within the community.

Following the directions in Kiriya Ubuyashiki’s letter, they trudge through icy sidewalks, their breath visible in the crisp air. The city’s vibrant lights glimmer faintly through the early evening snowfall, casting a soft glow over the quiet residential streets. Eventually, they come upon a small, traditional wooden house, with snow slowly piling on the roof and tiny icicles hanging from the eaves.

Before they can knock, the door opens, and a figure appears in the doorway—bundled in a thick wool coat, his eyes widening slightly. “Oh? I’m sorry. The clinic is closed now.”

Shinobu takes a closer look. He’s tall, with raven-black hair and striking blue eyes—brighter and more expressive than Giyuu’s, yet unmistakably familiar. The lines on his face reveal his age, but there’s a quiet dignity about him, a kind of natural authority that commands respect without asking for it.

He looks just like Giyuu, if only the latter hadn’t experienced anything tragic. 

Quietly, she shifts to her husband. She squeezes his hand, giving him a necessary push. 

Giyuu exhales, gathering his courage. “Pardon for the sudden visit, Uncle. It’s me, Giyuu.” 

Kiyoshi Tomioka blinks. His expression doesn’t change at first—just a slight furrow between his brows, as if trying to place a face he hasn’t seen in decades. Then his eyes widen.

“…Giyuu?” His voice catches. He takes a half step forward, staring hard at the young man in front of him. “It can’t be…”

Giyuu gives a small nod. “I apologize for showing up like this.”

There’s a pause—silent but heavy. Snow continues to fall behind them, muffling the world in a gentle hush. Then Kiyoshi steps back, opening the door wider.

“Come in,” he says quietly. “You’ll all freeze out there.”

They step into the warmth of the house. The interior is modest but carefully kept. A faint scent of medicinal herbs lingers in the air, and the soft crackle of a hearth echoes from the next room.

Kiyoshi stays by the entrance, his eyes still fixed on Giyuu. “When you ran away… there was no word. Not a letter. Nothing. We searched for you for months,” he says at last, voice softer now. “We thought you were dead—or wanted to be.”

Briefly, Giyuu stills, the weight of the years pressing heavier now. “I wasn’t sure which one I preferred at the time.”

That lands between them like a stone, but Kiyoshi doesn’t press. He just nods, once, solemn. Then, he steps forward and places a hand on Giyuu’s shoulder. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

And for the first time in years, Giyuu lets himself believe it to be true.

Kiyoshi gestures toward a low table near the hearth. “Sit. Please.” His voice is calm, but there’s an undercurrent of tension that hasn’t quite settled. “Let me make tea.”

He disappears into the adjoining room. Giyuu doesn't move at first, his eyes drifting across the space—thinking this could have been his home, had his choices been different. He examines the wooden beams overhead, the faint creak of the floorboards, and the shelf of old books, all in perfect order. Near the hearth, a small portrait catches his eye. Faded, but unmistakable.

His sister’s face.

Giyuu walks toward it, slow, almost reverent. His fingers hover over the frame, but he doesn’t touch it.

“He kept it,” he murmurs.

Shinobu joins him, her voice low. “Is that—?”

“Tsutako nee-san.”

“And you,” she murmurs, seeing Giyuu’s childhood for the first time. He hadn’t kept a single photo in his home. In the image, his eyes shine with a child’s untainted wonder, his smile still untouched by the world’s cruelties—just an ordinary, happy boy.

The kettle begins to whistle. A minute later, Kiyoshi returns, carrying a tray with three cups and a small tin of sweet crackers. His hands are steady, but his eyes are still searching Giyuu’s face like he’s afraid it might disappear.

They sit.

For a long moment, no one speaks. Snow taps softly against the window.

Kiyoshi finally leans back, folding his arms across his chest. 

“How have you been?”

Giyuu meets his gaze. His voice is quiet but steady. “I’ve been well.” 

A vague answer, covering everything that had passed over the years.

“I live in Tokyo now,” he continues, “and I visited to let you know. I owe you that, at least.” 

Kiyoshi exhales through his nose—a quiet sound, almost like a laugh. "You don’t owe me anything,” he says, not unkindly. “It’s been years, Giyuu.”

Giyuu nods once, eyes dropping to the steam curling above his tea. “I know, but I still thought of you.”

Silence falls again, heavy but not uncomfortable. Outside, the snow has settled on the windowsill, soft and slow.

Kiyoshi watches him for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. “You look happy now,” he says instead.

“I am.” Giyuu almost smiles. “How have you been?” 

“Just… here and there. The usual. Not much happens in provinces.” Kiyoshi shrugs, then he looks over at Shinobu a moment longer—curious, measuring. “You’re his wife.” 

A statement. Not a question.

Shinobu smiles faintly. “I am.”

“Did you convince him to come here?”

“No,” she answers. “It may come as a surprise, but he initiated this trip.”

Another silence, but this one isn’t cold. It stretches out like a path beginning to open, cautious but real.

Kiyoshi leans forward and lifts his tea. Then, he sits back slowly, the chair creaking beneath him. The lines around his mouth tighten, and his gaze flickers to Giyuu’s missing arm. 

“Giyuu… will you tell me why you left?”

The fire crackles behind them. Outside, the wind howls faintly under the eaves.

Giyuu doesn't answer right away. His hand is clasped tightly in his lap, knuckle pale. His expression shifts—faintly distressed, like he's had this conversation before and never managed to make himself understood.

Shinobu watches him hesitate. It’s never easy to explain how demons exist without judgment—without that condescending look that says they’ve lost their wits.

When he speaks, his voice is low, yet firm. “Tsutako nee-san wasn’t killed by a bandit.”

Kiyoshi's jaw sets. “Giyuu—”

“It was a demon.”

Kiyoshi’s mouth opens, but no words come. His expression shifts—disbelief, then something like restrained pity.

“That night,” Giyuu continues, his voice gaining strength, “it killed her right in front of my eyes. She died saving me. She fought it off with nothing but a lantern and a kitchen knife. And when I told the guards, the elders—you—everyone looked at me like I’d lost my mind.”

Kiyoshi’s face darkens, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “You were in shock. You’d walked through the mountains in the dead of winter, alone. Starving. You were half-dead, Giyuu.”

“I wasn’t hallucinating.”

“I know you believe it,” he says, too fast. “But—”

“It wasn’t belief.” Giyuu’s voice cuts despite the calm tone. He speaks out of experience and survival. “It was the truth. The people around me didn't believe me, so I ran away to look for those who would.”

Kiyoshi’s mouth snaps shut.

Shinobu watches quietly from beside the hearth—but her presence is solid, grounding.

Her gaze rests on Giyuu as he speaks, voice firm and honest. She has seen him kill without blinking, walk into carnage like it was just another dawn. But this? Reliving a painful past and still holding himself together? That is something else entirely.

Giyuu leans forward slightly. “I am not ill, nor did I make things up. You should know this, Uncle.” 

Kiyoshi flinches. Shame creeps into his eyes, old and sharp. “I was grieving,” he murmurs. “I didn’t understand. You were just a child, and your mind—”

“My mind was fine,” Giyuu corrects. “What wasn’t fine was living in a world where demons could rip your family apart, and the people you trust would rather believe you’re broken than face that truth.”

The silence that follows is brutal.

Finally, Kiyoshi lowers his gaze. He exhales slowly, like something in his chest has cracked after years of pressure.

“I remember,” he says quietly. “When you said it… How clear your eyes were. How certain yet terrified it is. I told myself it was trauma. Delusion. It was easier than believing the alternative. Easier than thinking… something else might still be out there.”

Giyuu listens, doing what his uncle could not. 

“I didn’t believe you,” Kiyoshi continues. “Not then. But over the years… I’ve heard stories. Whispers from the mountain folk. Children going missing. Entire hamlets wiped out. Nothing has ever been proven. But enough that I wondered, because they all disappear at night.”

He leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “I told myself it was wolves. Raiders. The world is just cruel sometimes. But now that you’re here, sitting in front of me, alive—”

He stops as if he realized something—something related to that missing arm. 

“…You’ve been hunting them.”

Giyuu nods, just once.

Kiyoshi lets out a breath that’s somewhere between disbelief and awe. His gaze moves to Shinobu. “Did you know?” 

Shinobu smiles pleasantly as she wears their shared history with pride. “I hunted demons with him. I’m a doctor as well.”

He makes a face like it’s more of a miracle, but says nothing about it. He looks at Giyuu again—really looks at him now, as if seeing not a lost boy but the man who came back with truth in his eyes and scars beneath his collar.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoshi says. “Regardless of whether I believed you or not, I should’ve been there for you. I shouldn’t have disregarded your feelings. I’m sorry, Giyuu, for not protecting you when you needed it most.”

Giyuu’s fingers fidget slightly. She sees the way his shoulders loosen in the faintest release of tension, like some knot deep inside him has finally begun to come undone.

Then, he says, “If I didn’t run away that day… I would’ve stayed ignorant. I would’ve lived a life full of lies, and I wouldn’t have met Shinobu.”  

Kiyoshi’s eyes flicker between them—Giyuu’s firm stature, Shinobu’s calm hands, the way their fingers rest near each other.

“I see,” he says softly. “Then I’m grateful, too, for whatever path led you to her.”

Her smile remains, but there’s something gentler in it now. “It wasn’t a kind path,” she says. “But it led us through.”

Giyuu glances at her—just briefly—but Shinobu feels the weight of it. 

“It’s over now, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks. There’s hesitation in his voice. As though part of him still expects the answer to be no.

Shinobu answers for Giyuu. “It is.” Her gaze doesn’t waver, yet there’s something distant in it now. The ghosts she carries don’t make noise, but they never stop walking beside her.

Kiyoshi exhales, long and low. He asks, “So, what now?”

“We try to live,” Giyuu answers.

“We’re still learning how,” she clarifies.

Kiyoshi nods, slowly. “If there's anything I can do—”

Giyuu glances toward the window, where the chilly air stirs the edge of the curtain. 

“There is,” he says. “When the children in your village say they’re afraid of the dark—don’t tell them it’s nothing. Don’t teach them to doubt their own eyes, but help them overcome it.”

Kiyoshi bows his head, ashamed but sincere. “I will.”

A pause. The fire has burned low. 

Then Shinobu rises, brushing a stray ember from her sleeve. She smooths out her coat and glances toward Giyuu with a small nod. “We brought these for you,” she says as she takes out Kanto region delicacies and infamous souvenirs. “It’s kusamochi and yaki manju. We have also prepared a calligraphy set since Giyuu told me you’re a doctor. As one myself, I know we often write.” 

“Oh, thank you. I am quite fond of them.” He smiles faintly and takes it. Then, his eyes read and linger on the branding of the delicacies, and the relatively expensive-looking calligraphy set—a Lacquerware Gold Maki-e Suzuri Box.  

Everyone knows what it is, except Giyuu, perhaps. Such opulence is reserved for only the wealthiest residents of Tokyo.

Shinobu smiles to herself while her husband wonders why his uncle has been silent for a minute. 

Dazed as the revelation sinks in, he looks up to the couple. Whatever guess he has, it stays in his mind. “Oh, I apologize. I was… mesmerized,” he excuses. “Will you two be staying?” 

Shinobu offers a smile, light and apologetic. “We’re on vacation.”

“Vacation?”

“Mm.” She folds her hands behind her back. “A rare one. And if I recall correctly, we have a quiet mountain inn, warm meals, and a hot spring waiting for us.” 

Giyuu stands with her, quietly resigned. 

Kiyoshi watches them with something like wonder. Then, he smiles genuinely and stands up. 

“I see, then I’d best let you be on your way. You two deserve it.” He steps toward the door with them and opens it, letting in a sharp breath of cold air. 

Before they can step outside, he speaks again—gentler this time, with something more personal in his voice.

“Shinobu, is it?” he asks, more for confirmation than curiosity. “You’re both always welcome here. I’d be glad to speak with family—however that may look. Perhaps we could even talk about educational paths in the medical field.”

The couple shares a knowing look, and they nod, accepting the invitation. 

“I still have some old photos,” Kiyoshi adds, a little sheepishly. “From when Giyuu was a boy. Mischievous little thing, believe it or not.”

Giyuu exhales, almost a laugh—but it never quite makes it to his mouth. 

Shinobu’s smile sharpens with interest. “Oh? I’d love to see them sometime.”

“You will,” Kiyoshi replies. “Next time.”

Giyuu meets Kiyoshi’s eyes one last time. There’s no resentment left there—only a faint resolution. “Take care of yourself, Uncle.”

“I will,” Kiyoshi says. “Both of you—thank you. Be safe out there.”

They step outside together. The cold meets them like an old memory, but the night is calm. The kind of calm that used to feel impossible.

Their reunion plays out just as Shinobu imagined. Giyuu stays long enough to honor his purpose, but not so long as to disturb the quiet unfamiliarity that’s settled between them. It’s just like him—gentle in presence, but doesn’t pretend time hasn’t changed them. He doesn’t reach too far, doesn’t act like the distance never grew. And his uncle, at the very least, understands that much.

She wraps her coat tighter around her shoulders and glances up at Giyuu, eyes glinting. “That went better than expected.”

He walks slowly, careful of the ice-covered road. “You helped.”

“Not much. You did all the talking,” she says, and threads her arm through his. “Giyuu-san, I haven’t heard you talk that much for as long as I’ve known you. It’s quite charming, really. It makes me want to keep this side of you all for myself.” 

His brow lifts faintly, but there’s no protest. Just a long pause as they walk, her arm still linked through his. 

She asks, “Do you regret going?”

He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. 

“Good,” she says, softer now. “You deserve to be heard.”

They walk a little farther, boots crunching lightly over the frosted path. 

“Do you ever think about what we would’ve become,” Shinobu says quietly, “if none of it had happened? If there had never been demons. Never been corps. If we were just… people?”

“I think we still are,” he answers without a beat. He doesn’t elaborate. Just keeps walking. “But we wouldn’t have met.” 

She hums idly. Giyuu can be really attractive sometimes. “That’s dangerously close to philosophy, Giyuu-san. I might have to revise my assumptions about you.”

“You have assumptions?”

“Plenty. All of them are very flattering.” She matches it with an all-knowing smile.

He lets out a sound of amusement and leaves it at that.

Ahead, the faint outline of the inn comes into view—tucked against the trees with lights glowing behind paper screens. Smoke curls gently from the chimney. Peaceful. Ordinary. The kind of place Misturi will definitely enjoy. 

“Did you know they have mixed baths in there, Giyuu-san?” Shinobu quips, excitement laced in her tone. 

“I did not.” 

“But you’re happy about it, right?” 

He walks a little faster, and Shinobu laughs heartily. It’s his way of saying yes.