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This couldn’t be real.
Sanemi blinked. He knew that he’d hit his head on his mission—his reason for coming to the butterfly mansion in the first place. But he was certain he hadn’t hit it that hard. What else could explain what he was seeing, hearing, though, except blunt-trauma-induced hallucination?
“What did you just say?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.
“I…asked you how you’re doing…?”
Sanemi shook his head. That’s what Sanemi had thought he’d heard. It wasn’t such an unusual question. Or, well, it wouldn’t be from anyone else.
But this wasn’t anyone else.
This was Tomioka Giyuu.
Tomioka Giyuu, in a Butterfly Mansion standard-issue recovery uniform, sitting in the gardens with a book and some tea despite the chill of autumn biting the air. Tomioka Giyuu, staring at him expectantly, dark hair unbound, blue eyes wide and free of animus or arrogance. Tomioka Giyuu with a fucking smile on his face, turning up his lips slightly, creasing the corners of his eyes.
Tomioka Giyuu looking at Shinazugawa Sanemi like he was happy to see him.
Heat warmed Sanemi’s skin, old familiar flames of frustrated irritation stoked simply by grudge and force of habit, if not by anything Giyuu had actually said or done.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sanemi spat at him, bristling.
Whatever new low this was, whatever fresh disrespect Giyuu was leveling at him, Sanemi wasn’t interested. Not today. So he glared at Giyuu with his usual anger, disregarding this false pretense of kindness he’d been presented with, and waited for Giyuu to drop the damn act.
And he waited.
Giyuu’s eyebrows knit together.
“Sorry?” he asked, and there wasn’t a shred of sarcasm in it. He continued hesitantly, “You’re at the Butterfly Mansion. I assumed you must be injured, or you wouldn’t be here—”
And that was more than enough of that. Tomioka Giyuu, acting as if he gave a shit about Sanemi’s wellbeing. Sanemi made a cutting motion with his hand. “Okay, just shut up, I don’t have time for your bullshit today, Tomioka—”
“Shinazugawa!” A stern, familiar voice pierced the tension between them, cutting Sanemi off as harshly as he’d cut off Giyuu, and he glared over his shoulder as Shinobu quickly crossed the engawa to them. “That’s quite enough,” she said to Sanemi, then her voice softened, her expression turning sympathetic, and she said to Giyuu, “I’m so sorry, Tomioka. This is the Wind Pillar, Shinazugawa Sanemi. He has a bit of a temper, you’ll have to excuse him.”
Sanemi’s eyes widened.
…What the hell?
“Ah, I see,” Giyuu said. He didn’t look like he saw at all.
What was Shinobu doing? Talking to Giyuu as if he didn’t know exactly who Sanemi was. Talking to him as if they hadn’t been doing this dance for years. Talking to him as if he…
“Why is Tomioka here?” Sanemi asked sharply.
Shinobu pursed her lips, looking at Sanemi, then back to Giyuu. “Do you mind?” she asked gently.
“No,” Giyuu said, waving a hand, “It will be easier if it’s common knowledge.”
With a cordial smile, Shinobu turned back to Sanemi. She lifted a hand, gesturing to the Water Pillar, and explained succinctly, “He doesn’t know who you are, Shinazugawa. He doesn’t remember anything at all, in fact. Tomioka was hit with a blood demon art on his last mission. We’re determining if the effects are temporary or can be reversed—in the meantime…” her smile widened and she leaned towards him slightly. The sticky-sweet notes in her voice carried more poison than honey. “Try not to be an ass.”
Oh.
Sanemi looked between Shinobu, her large violet eyes staring him down, and Giyuu, who had looked away self-consciously. He seemed uncomfortable now, his earlier warmth and openness withdrawn, but still… He lacked the icy veneer that Sanemi was accustomed to. There was too much expression in his face, too much awkwardness in his stiff posture, too much emotion in his eyes.
This person sitting on the engawa… This wasn’t Tomioka Giyuu.
Who was this person?
“I… Right,” Sanemi said gruffly, scratching the back of his head. “Well.” He felt like there should be more to say, but what? What could he say? His typical communication with Giyuu started with one or the other throwing needling jabs and more often than not finished with Sanemi fighting the urge to throttle him. He didn’t know how to talk to Giyuu when Giyuu was…not Giyuu.
Shinobu sighed, observing his apparent conflict. “Don’t hurt yourself,” she said, and patted his shoulder. “Shall we get you checked then, Shinazugawa?”
With a last look at Giyuu, who had lifted his book, returning to its pages, Sanemi gave a nod.
As he followed Shinobu towards the door, though, Giyuu called, “It was nice to meet you.”
Sanemi ducked his head, shoulders hunched. He had never heard his voice sound so soft.
. . .
How much of a person was defined by their memories? The question trailed through his mind throughout his examination with Shinobu. Paired with it was a less comfortable second question: Who was Tomioka Giyuu to him if the man couldn’t remember any of his past? If he couldn’t remember Sanemi?
Were they still at odds if Giyuu couldn’t even remember why?
Should Sanemi still hate him? Should he still lead with anger? Should he nurture his own memories and the bounty of ire they had fostered over the years, despite that it was all now one-sided?
Sanemi thought of the warmth in Giyuu’s face when he’d seen him enter the gardens, the shine in his eyes. He hadn’t even known who Sanemi was, apparently, and yet he’d looked at him like—
Shinobu pinched his arm, hard.
“Ow!” Sanemi yelped, batting her hand away, and glared at her.
“What was that for?” he asked, rubbing the red skin on his forearm.
“I’m trying to assess you for brain damage, and you’re being distracted,” she said, folding her arms. “I asked you if you’re having any ringing in your ears, vertigo, nausea…?”
Sanemi rolled his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said.
With a shake of her head, Shinobu wrote a few things down on a chart that was labeled with Sanemi’s name then slid it into a file. “Alright,” she said, her tone professional, “if you take a few days rest, you’ll be fine.”
“Great,” Sanemi said, standing up.
“You should stay the night, though,” Shinobu added as she cleaned up her exam room. “Just in case. You can head back to your estate tomorrow.”
Sanemi groaned, pulling back on his haori. “Paranoid insect,” he grumbled, but the words weren’t harsh. At the end of the day, Sanemi liked Shinobu, and he knew she meant well. Even if she was a pest.
“Dinner will be in a few hours,” Shinobu said to him as he headed towards the door.
“Sounds good,” Sanemi sighed. But when he got to the door, he paused, his thoughts spinning back to Giyuu, though he tried to force them to move on. He felt unsettled, unsure of himself, and he hated it. He liked knowing his place with people, needed to understand where he stood with those around him. Particularly his fellow Pillars.
Now, Giyuu was distinctly not himself and Sanemi didn’t know what to do with the situation or how to move forward.
Hesitantly, he said, “So. Tomioka. Do you think his memories will come back?”
Shinobu didn’t answer immediately, and he waited tensely as she folded up the sheet on the exam table and placed it in a bin beside the door.
“It’s unclear,” she finally said in a reserved voice.
Sanemi grimaced. Not the answer he was hoping for.
“Then…what is he going to do?” he pressed, turning back to face her. “How can he continue with his duties?”
Shinobu shrugged. “His abilities have been assessed already. He’s retained all of his swordsmanship and skill at his previous level. Muscle memory, perhaps… He’ll be able to continue with missions without issue regardless of whether he remembers anything or not.”
Continue? As if nothing had happened? As if everything was the same?
“That’s ridiculous. He can’t—” Sanemi started, but Shinobu held up a hand.
“He can.” Her voice was firm, and she looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Why is it any concern of yours whether or not he remembers, Shinazugawa?”
Sanemi’s teeth clenched, jaw set, and he felt his pulse jump.
He didn’t have an answer.
He didn’t know why it mattered.
“I’m going to give you some free advice,” Shinobu said, leaning on the table, and looking at him. There was very little sympathy in her voice. “Take this as an opportunity to put the bad blood behind you.” Sanemi’s gaze narrowed at the suggestion, and his fists closed, but she continued, undeterred. “Tomioka doesn’t remember anything, and he’s different because of it. He doesn’t know why you don’t like him, why anyone doesn’t like him for that matter. For all intents and purposes… This is the first time he’s met you, and the first time you’ve met him.” She sighed, looking out the door in the direction of the gardens where they’d left Giyuu. Almost to herself, she said, “We can start fresh, and maybe it will be good for all of us. Tomioka most of all.”
Sanemi considered her. Her logic made sense, but conflict was driving his thoughts in a spiral, pulling him back and forth, whether to cling to old habits, old emotions, old grudges, or give this Giyuu, untethered to his past, the benefit of the doubt and try for a fresh start.
“Just think it over,” Shinobu said, patting his arm, and then swept past him and out of the room, leaving Sanemi alone with his uncertainty.
. . .
Later that evening, Sanemi found Giyuu on the roof.
Throughout the remainder of the afternoon, Giyuu had stayed in the gardens, only coming inside to join Shinobu, Sanemi, and the butterfly girls for dinner. He’d chatted politely during the meal, asking questions about demons, about the Corps, about the other Pillars. Shinobu answered each one thoroughly, and Giyuu followed up with even more questions. It was baffling. Sanemi hadn’t heard Giyuu speak so much in all of their previous interactions combined. His voice was…soothing, Sanemi thought with no small amount of annoyance. Where the cool tone of it had once grated in Sanemi’s ears like nails on ice, now it reminded Sanemi of rain, hushed, but expressive and lilting, almost like music.
He thought he might hate Giyuu for that too.
At the end of the meal, Giyuu had excused himself, bowing politely and thanking Shinobu and the girls for their hospitality, wishing Sanemi a good evening, before he left the room and disappeared.
And then Shinobu had looked at him expectantly, as if she had been trying to prove some kind of point, and taking this meal with Giyuu had pushed the dial in her favor. Sanemi returned her look with a glare, and turned his attention to his food.
Sanemi didn’t know for certain what compelled him to seek Giyuu out once his own meal was finished, whether it was morbid curiosity or some new form of masochism. All he knew was that as much as he loathed to admit it, Shinobu was right. The entire meal, it had struck Sanemi over and over, watching Giyuu interact, listening to him speak, that he didn’t remotely know this person sitting across from him.
This is the first time you’ve met him.
Shinobu’s words lingered aggravatingly at the forefront of his mind.
The truth was, he wanted to know if she was right. Or, more accurately, maybe part of him wanted to prove that she was wrong. Maybe he wanted—hoped—to find the asshole he was familiar with somewhere in the congenial man calling himself Tomioka Giyuu. Maybe he wanted to justify his anger, find something to rekindle it and prove that Giyuu had deserved it all along. Maybe he just wanted to find himself back on familiar ground again.
The urge to know one way or the other had him wandering the Mansion, peering into empty rooms, asking staff that he passed if they’d seen the dark haired man around. Finally, a Kakushi delivering a message mentioned that they’d seen someone on the roof when they entered the Mansion grounds. Perhaps that was who Sanemi was looking for, she suggested.
Sure enough, Sanemi found Giyuu perched on the sloping tiles, gaze fixed on the western horizon. He must have come out here to watch the sun set, Sanemi realized, and stayed to admire the stars. He hesitated at the window, looking at Giyuu’s back. He seemed relaxed, peaceful. Now that he was here, Sanemi felt reluctant to subject himself to whatever this conversation would bring, but… He needed to know. Finally steeling his resolve, he slipped out onto the roof, picking his way over to the Water Pillar.
Giyuu didn’t comment when Sanemi joined him, sparing him little more than a quick glance, but it wasn’t cold, only curious. Sanemi sat beside him, keeping several feet between them. The moon was rising at their backs, large and full, spilling silver light across the Mansion and its grounds. Above them, the sky was black and dotted with stars, gleaming like scattered crystal.
Well, Sanemi thought awkwardly. He’d done it. He’d taken initiative. Found Giyuu. Joined him on the roof. Now that Sanemi was out here, though, he didn’t really know what to say. Did he try to pick Giyuu apart? Aggravate him and see if he could draw out the person Sanemi knew? Part of him itched to, admittedly. But Shinobu’s voice in his head made him pause, and he kept his silence instead.
Uncharacteristically, it didn’t take long for Giyuu to choose to break it.
“So… I take it we aren't friends,” Giyuu said. There was a trace of humor in his voice; an attempt to keep things lighthearted, perhaps, but there was something serious in the statement too, something vulnerable.
Maybe it wasn’t only Sanemi who didn’t like not knowing where he stood.
Sanemi scoffed at Giyuu, but it was more out of habit than spite. “Not exactly,” he agreed. An understatement. He set his elbow on his knee, resting his chin in his hand.
“I see,” Giyuu said slowly. Sanemi glanced over at him. He didn't sound disappointed exactly… But his confusion was unmistakable, brows furrowed ever so slightly.
“Does that surprise you?” Sanemi asked.
Giyuu shrugged. “I can't remember, so I suppose you would know better than me.” His vulnerability gave way to skepticism, just a scant trace of his old, familiar attitude, and Sanemi latched onto it.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked. He let his voice slip into its usual timbre, harsh, coarse, but beneath the surface, he felt no anger, only intrigue.
Giyuu sighed, tipping his head back to look at the sky full of stars. His dark hair poured down his back like black silk, and Sanemi thought it looked soft like this, loose and uncontained. He’d never seen it out of its bushy tail before.
“The memories feel like they’re behind a door without a key,” Giyuu explained after a moment. He eyed Sanemi from the side. “I don't know any of our history. It’s like we met for the first time today, in that way.”
Sanemi looked away, hearing the same sentiment Shinobu had offered, the same he’d found himself fixated on, now parroted in Giyuu’s cool voice.
“The emotions though…” Giyuu trailed off.
Emotions? Sanemi’s breath caught slightly, inexplicably. He looked back at the Water Pillar, and froze. Giyuu was looking up at the sky. His expression was softer than Sanemi had ever seen it, and it looked strange, wrong, for the normally flat features to carry so much feeling. Tomioka Giyuu wasn’t supposed to look like this, act like this.
“I see people, and I still feel things, even though I can't remember why.” Giyuu let the statement hang between them, not elaborating, not seeming like he meant to.
But it wasn’t enough. Sanemi wanted to know more. What was Giyuu implying exactly? What did he mean he felt things? What did he feel when he saw Sanemi earlier that day in the gardens? What did he feel when he looked at him now? His curiosity burned brighter. He shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter. But for some reason, Sanemi found that it did.
Why? Because he’d always thought he knew before. Just that morning, if someone had asked what Sanemi believed Tomioka Giyuu felt towards him, he would have answered with confidence: superiority, disdain, hostility.
Nothing Giyuu had ever done or said had indicated otherwise.
And yet… Giyuu had been surprised to find that they weren't friends.
“What sort of things?” Sanemi asked against his own better judgment.
Giyuu’s chin tipped down and he turned his face, not quite looking at Sanemi, but the new angle let the moonlight kiss his cheek and glance off his jaw, throwing his features into contrast, a dance of light and shadow. Too pretty, Tomioka Giyuu, Sanemi thought bitterly.
“About Kochou…” Giyuu began, “Fondness, though there’s some…annoyance too.” He pursed his lips, then continued, “Master Ubuyashiki, reverence, respect. The crow assigned to me, concern mostly. Kamado Tanjiro, a sense of responsibility—”
“About me?” Sanemi interrupted.
Giyuu broke off. His eyes skipped to Sanemi, then away, and his hands folded in his lap, one finger tapping in a rhythm that almost seemed nervous. There was something…strangely endearing about it. Seeing the indomitable, immovable, impossible Water Pillar looking so unsure.
“I would expect that we were…friends,” Giyuu deflected softly. Not quite an answer, and yet it jarred Sanemi like he’d taken another blow to the head.
Friends.
Giyuu said the word like it was something precious, and even in the sharp contrast of moonlight and darkness, Sanemi could see the slightest flush sweeping across his cheekbones.
And what was Sanemi to say to that?
The silence was thick between them, uncomfortable—at least it was to Sanemi. He’d never been good at keeping quiet. But now he was at a loss for words. He didn’t even know how he felt about this revelation—whatever Tomioka Giyuu felt about him that made him think they were friends—much less what to say about it.
Once again, Sanemi was saved from breaking the silence by Giyuu.
“Would it be too much to ask…why we’re not…?” Giyuu’s voice was tentative, like he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer.
Sanemi took a slow breath. He raked his hand through his hair, all his memories of Giyuu unfurling one by one. The antagonism. The blatant conceit. The isolation and blunt refusal to associate with the rest of them. Where did he even start?
Or…
Or should he start at all?
He looked at Giyuu again, and this time he let their eyes meet and linger there. Giyuu’s blue gaze was earnest, and in its depths there were layers folded upon layers of emotions, complex and shifting, so many that Sanemi couldn’t possibly hope to pick them apart in the moment.
But, maybe, given time, given a chance…
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Sanemi said slowly, and he let what remained of the anger he’d carried against the Water Pillar for so long go, releasing it like a spark into the night. Between one heartbeat and the next, it vanished into the dark.
A fresh start, he thought.
Then he held out his hand.
“Shinazugawa Sanemi,” he introduced himself.
A breath, two, then Giyuu’s lips tugged to the side, a cautious smile breaking on his face. He took Sanemi’s hand in his, his callused grip strong, steady.
“Tomioka Giyuu,” Giyuu said, and Sanemi could hear the smile on his face reflected in the warmth of his voice. “It’s very nice to meet you, Sanemi.”