Random Kny One Shots [Requests Closed] Stages of love | {SaneObaGiyuu}

Theme: Floofy angst !

Note: Is it bad i can’t say no

Spoilers! + lil cw for thoughts of suicide/implications of sh

// I GOT CARRIED AWAY WITH THE REQUEST, I MEANT TO DO LIKE TWO OR THREE PARAGRAPHS OF REMINISCING FOR THE PAST BEFORE OBANAI DIED BUT I GOT MORE LIKE 3.5k WORDS BEFORE I GOT TO THE ANGST 😭 THE ANGST COMES A BIT SUDDENLY BC OF THAT, SORRY

Tags: @Obanaisboxers

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For a couple months, Giyuu, Obanai, and Sanemi had dated. From outside view, it had come out of nowhere. One minute, Obanai and Sanemi were shitting on Giyuu, next minute the three were holding hands and prancing about like a group of princesses at a ball. But really, it had been a progressive year that led up to their relationship. There were the first peaks of interest in each other. It had started, perhaps, with Sanemi. He was the most brash of the three, as was known well, and in the same way quite rudely honest. Only, his honesty came in handy in some cases, such as this.

There was a time where he had to go on a mission paired with Giyuu. It had been a quick one, only taken to the task for the Hashira because there had been several Lowermoons in the area. But it was around that time when Sanemi noticed something different. Giyuu spoke to him only once throughout the four hours they had taken to arrive at their destination, kill the demons, deposit the injured to a safe place and bury the dead. Yet it was enough to spark an interest in Sanemi. 

Giyuu’s voice was quiet and collected, usually without emotion. There was something about it, however, that was so… graceful, almost. His words flowed smoothly like water, whereas Sanemi spoke like a firecracker, ready to light on fire. But it wasn’t the contrast about them that caught his eye—or ear, rather. Nor was it the words, really. If you asked him, Sanemi wouldn’t remember what Giyuu had said that day. But whatever it was, Giyuu’s voice seemed to stick into his head, repeating itself over an over. He tried fitting other words into Giyuu’s voice. Sanemi. The name ‘Sanemi’ slipped over your tongue lightly, gently. It was mismatched, really, to the bearer of the name. But it fit Giyuu’s voice, his mouth. Sanemi could imagine it, his lips parting to utter the name. It was like a calm river, a trickle. He wanted to hear it, suddenly. Wanted to hear his name spoken from the lips of the man he had detested since they day they’d met.

It hadn’t hit him quite that suddenly, no. It came gradually. Giyuu’s voice returning to his mind several days after the mission. He turned it over in his head, over and over. He came to the conclusion that he would press words from Giyuu’s throat, he would force sound from it. He wanted to hear him again, hear him speak, hear him say his name. 

The name Shinazugawa was crisper. It was like a breeze that took a sudden turn, then returned to its peaceful state. It was alright, perhaps, to hear it spoken in Giyuu’s ever-so-soothing voice. But Sanemi longed to hear his name. Sanemi. Sanemi, Sanemi, Sanemi. Giyuu’s bluebell eyes flicking momentarily towards him, then back to the task at hand. Sanemi.

One day, Giyuu and Sanemi found themselves the last people to leave as the Hashira’s disbanded from their second biannual meeting of the year. They glanced at each other. Giyuu was all but expecting Sanemi to shout at him again, or maybe regard him with contempt before leaving. But he got something considerably different and it caught him off guard, letting a small burst of surprise slip through his façade for a split second before his face settled to its neutral, slack expression.

“Tomioka, will you say something?” Sanemi had asked. He sounded gruff and, in future days, Giyuu would come to recognize that it was his tell-tale of embarrassment. His voice was almost quiet, maybe a shade brighter than Giyuu’s. And it was so uncharacteristic of him that Giyuu was unsure it was actually Sanemi. But of course it was, who else would it be?

Giyuu tilted his head in Sanemi’s direction, not responding. He didn’t understand this request. Would he be chastised for having a quiet voice? Or be shouted at for not talking usually? What was the point of this question?

“Speak, Tomioka,” Sanemi repeated, stepping forward. “Say something. Anything.”

Giyuu, deciding that he couldn’t think of any outcome which might come from this—and knowing full well he could simply leave—he spoke. “What do you mean?”

It was more than enough for Sanemi. He settled back, leaning against one of the pillars on the corner of the porch of the Ubuyashiki’s Estate. His arms were crossed and his eyes glazed languidly over Giyuu’s form, intent in his own thoughts.

Giyuu got no answer this time, which he considered as karma. People often complained how he rarely—or never—answered. He supposed he couldn’t whine about it now, not when he always ignored others. But he stayed there, unsure of himself. 

“Shinazugawa?” 

Sanemi nodded once in response. Nothing more, nothing less. And it was all odd for Giyuu, of course. He didn’t understand.

He would come later to identify this strange occurance, would he run it through his head once more.

“Nevermind,” Giyuu murmured. Then, wondering if he should announce his leave, added, “I’ll be going now. Goodbye.”

Sanemi stood up, then, straightening himself. “Bye, then,” he said, walking away.

Strange, wasn’t it? Giyuu had gone home, mulling the day over, then had decided Sanemi was tired and acting weird and brushed it away.

Sanemi, on the otherhand, had found Obanai in his usual post on a tree. He had climbed up beside him, leaned against a branch, and stared off into the distance. 

“What do you mean? … Shinazugawa? … Nevermind. I’ll be going now, goodbye.”

Shinazugawa.

God, and what was there of ‘Sanemi’? He wanted it—needed it—and it came as a shock to himself, even. What was there of Giyuu? Other than his eyes and his voice—of course, he was nothing! Nothing, to Sanemi. Nothing to anyone. But even that wasn’t true, was it? Giyuu was becoming something. He wasn’t sure what. But it was there. This small, nagging feeling that Giyuu was going to be something… more.

That was the start.

Usually, Sanemi was described as using his words in an almost brutal way. He cursed every other word, he spoke more insults than anything, only uttered a compliment once or twice. In his life, perhaps. But there were times his words came off as sweet, a honeyed tone, peppered with love. This was rare, no doubt. Would it ever happen?

Yes, it would. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone that Obanai and Sanemi’s relationship progressed considerably faster than theirs to Giyuu. They were friends, of course. Best friends, even. Both found the other easy to confide in, often going on walks together to clear their minds, sparring or simply being in the presence of the other. 

In this instance, Obanai had fallen first. And he had fallen hard. 

Sanemi was someone to admire, if you put him under the right light. He was strong, he was honest, yet somehow caring in his own, aggressive ways. He would manage Obanai’s eating schedules as best he could, bring small snacks for him. He was trustworthy, too. He could keep a secret—keep a promise. It was evident that nobody saw this in him, save for Obanai. People described him as explosive, angry, like a morbid dog. Behind his back, they would call him names, but tremble in fear were he to glance at them. They didn’t understand him like Obanai did. Nobody did, really. Nobody bothered to.

Sanemi didn’t mind insults. He only threw some back or ignored them. Obanai brought it up once and Sanemi brushed it off saying, quite reasonably, that people were going to say what they wanted to say and that was that. Either ignore them or waste your time being upset about it, it was your choice. And Sanemi chose to ignore them. He didn’t give a single fuck what anyone said anymore, as long as they minded their own business and didn’t bother him.

At one point in time, Obanai revealed his scar to Sanemi. They had gotten to the point where he felt he could trust him enough to show this one most intimate part of himself which only Kaburamaru had ever seen before. He figured that if Sanemi reacted badly, he would simply retreat from the friendship he had grown to love and keep to himself. He expected this to happen, in all honesty. He didn’t expect much. But it went well, granted. Well enough for Obanai’s eyes to open and take in all of Sanemi’s cocky smiles, his tall form, his rough voice, everything. And consume it with all his heart, fall deep into waters of an ocean called Love, find himself too drowned in Sanemi that he no longer knew what had happened.

It had probably come in more than the instant it took for Sanemi to accept the scar. But whether it had taken hours or days or months, Obanai knew not. He only knew that he had sunken into this too deeply to get out in a matter of time. He was head of heels for Sanemi and he was not backing out any time soon.

Sanemi caught on, eventually. He wasn’t an idiot. And Obanai was exceedingly obvious, flushing at any contact, averting his eyes when Sanemi pulled his top off during training, stuttering and stumbling over his words like Mitsuri. This was before Sanemi’s eyes set upon Giyuu. So he considered it. He spoke nothing of his observations to Obanai until he was sure of his answer. Then he brought it up, so bluntly Obanai had all but fallen out of the tree.

“You like me, don’t you,” he had said one day. Not as a question, but a statement. He was gazing up at Obanai who sat in a tree, legs swinging slightly.

Obanai took exactly one second to register his words before he tipped backwards in his shock, barely staying on as his legs hooked around the branch quickly, making his body swing back and forth for a moment, blood rushing to his head as he hung upside down. Kaburamaru had gotten a more or less worse position, having fallen from his perch on Obanai’s shoulders and was now struggling on the ground, tangled up in the grass.

Sanemi sighed and bent down, helping Kaburamaru up and standing back up. “One minute,” he said to Obanai, who was helplessly trying to reach up and grab the branch.

He carefully placed Kaburamaru to the side then walked back to Obanai and tugged him down, carrying him to Kaburamaru and settling him down.

Obanai looked away, embarrassed, and quickly brought Kaburamaru back onto his shoulder, busying himself with the snake.

“How long have you liked me for?” Sanemi asked. 

“I never said I liked you…” Obanai mumbled, trying to defect the question.

“No, but it’s obvious. You didn’t deny it anyways,” Sanemi said pointedly, crossing his arms. “Might as well tell the truth, unless you want me to throw you back onto the tree.”

Obanai let out a breath. “Fine.”

“Good. Now tell me,” Sanemi said impatiently. 

“I don’t know,” Obanai mumbled.

“No? What about vaguely?”

“Since I showed you?” he suggested quietly. “I think.”

“Showed me…?” Understanding slipped into Sanemi’s expression. “Ah. Your mask.”

“Yes.”

“Got it.”

Silence.

“Are you annoyed?” Obanai asked tentatively. 

“Annoyed? Why would I be?” Sanemi said curiously, moving closer to stand in front of him.

“I’m sure you aren’t into men,” Obanai mumbled. 

“Nice assumption. You’re wrong.”

More silence. There was an awkward moment of staring.

“Then you’re not into me, specifically,” Obanai said quietly.

“Wrong again. How many times can you be wrong?” Sanemi asked, amused by this.

“…you like me?” Obanai asked, obvious shock lacing his words.

“No, I like Tomioka—of course I like you! Was that not obvious?” He paused. “No, I guess I can’t ask you that, Mr. King-of-Obvious. You wouldn’t understand subtlety if it danced in front of you naked.” 

“Shut up,” Obanai grumbled. 

“Mhm,” Sanemi hummed lightly. “So, answer me, Iguro.”

Obanai glanced up. “Hm?”

“Do you want to date?” 

There was some sort of shocked silence—mostly from Obanai.

“What?”

“Do you want to date,” Sanemi repeated. “You’re not forced to.”

“Oh- Oh, okay, yeah. Uhm. Sure,” Obanai mumbled. 

Sanemi gave him a satisfied smile. “Alright then.” 

And that was the start of their relationship. Romantic relationship, mind you. They kept it a secret. Neither wished to have publicity shined on their private lives. It started with smaller things but it fed to their affection to each other, making them grow closer. They found themselves entangled in each other.

Then Giyuu came along. Sanemi was, as stated before, the first to fall for him. Or at least find some interest that mingled—longer than anticipated.

Obanai saw nothing in Giyuu for the longest time. But Sanemi brought it up eventually, deciding he didn’t want to dwell on it for too long. Obanai resisted the idea at first, which was reasonable. He gave in eventually, however, as he let himself try to shine better light on the man he usually hated. With this, he found his interest peaked slightly. He didn’t see what Sanemi did, necessarily. He found himself more interested in Giyuu as a person, rather then why he was always so ignorant and bitchy.

It definitely took time to find himself fully immersed in this man—which was reasonable. Obanai’s gaze was set on Sanemi and he refused to look away for even a second. But Sanemi’s apparently sudden interest in Giyuu made him rethink a bit. He wanted, more than anything, for Sanemi to be content with his life. He didn’t want to pressure him to stay with Obanai or anything that would make him upset. So he took the time to look into Giyuu. Maybe they could have some sort of relationship between the three of them, maybe it would make Sanemi happy too. 

To both his own and Sanemi’s shock, Obanai found himself seeing some things Sanemi did in Giyuu. He found himself wondering how it would feel to run his hair through Giyuu’s long locks. He was drawn to his eyes especially. The blue. It was beautiful, somehow. Not like an ocean that could swoop you away, no, but maybe like the little blue flowers that grew on the sides of roads, swaying peacefully in the breeze. Or like blueberries, small and sweet. Giyuu’s eyes were a deep blue, like the depths of a twilight sky. He realized, over time, that he had fallen in love all over again. It wasn’t as much as he had felt for Sanemi, that was for sure, but it seemed that in his attempt to please his boyfriend, he had ended up finding the humanity and Giyuu and things to like about him.

He spoke to Sanemi about this, after a couple days of wondering if he should throw away his pride. The conversation ended in both agreeing to talk to Giyuu first. After all, neither had been particularily… welcoming to Giyuu, so they figured that he would probably find nothing in them.

Giyuu, in fact, was positively shocked to know that the two Hashira who appeared to despise him most both liked him…romantically. But he welcomed the idea, saying that he could try to find something in both of them. It didn’t come as a surprise—although it wasn’t without its disappointment—that Giyuu didn’t feel the same. Not at first, at least. So the three started spending a little time by themselves, away from prying eyes. The goal was, for Giyuu, to try and find interest in either or both Sanemi and Obanai. The other two—who had told Giyuu they were dating—only reveled in the time with Giyuu, not wanting to force feelings onto him.

But Giyuu, as Obanai had, quickly ended up captivated by the two. As he spent more time with them, he found himself immersed in their daily lives. It made him feel normal, too, not on the brink of death 24/7. Or at least that he could have a relatively okay life as of now. And with this, he could find the people inside Sanemi and Obanai which he had been mostly unable to see before. It was interesting, to say the least. And his interest was peaked.

He told them, after a couple weeks of mindless talking, that he had come to a decision. They were on a walk, it being a good day, and had finished sparring with each other some time ago. To cool down they’d gone outside—and it was nice, not too hot either. It had been a quiet walk, broken eventually by Giyuu who spoke up.

“Around a month ago, you asked me about… our… relationship? To each other?” he said, trying to remember the words they had used. 

“Go on,” Obanai urged.

Giyuu nodded slowly. “Well you told me that after maybe a month I could decide whether or not I’d want to be anything more, or just not have anything to do with you.”

Obanai let out a breath. “Are you going to keep us waiting?”

A ghost of a smile formed on Giyuu’s face. “Sorry.”

“Just hurry up,” Sanemi said impatiently. He had been waiting longest, after all. Had liked Giyuu way before Obanai and had waiting for months for Obanai to accept this, then to fall for Giyuu too, and then for Giyuu to come to terms with his decision. 

“Right. I think… I think I feel the same,” Giyuu informed them. “I liked spending the month with you two and… and I can see myself with you—romantically—if you’d still have any lingering interest in me.” His words were delivered curtly, switching to his usual self as nervousness took over.

Sanemi scoffed. “Lingering interest? Bitch—I still feel the same. Stop being so fucking insecure or whatever it is,” he said, crossing his arms.

Obanai mimicked his pose, nodding along. “What he said.”

Giyuu’s lips twitched into a supressed smile despite himself. “Alright…”

“So are you saying you’re willing to date it, though?” Obanai clarified, wanting to make sure.

Giyuu nodded. “I think so.”

“Think? Can you be more specific,” Obanai huffed.

“Fine. Yes, I am saying that,” Giyuu corrected. 

Obanai gave a satisfied nod and glanced at Sanemi.

“Then… we’re dating?” Obanai said quietly, unsure if that’s what it meant.

“Hell yes,” Sanemi replied confidently, swinging an arm around Giyuu and another around Obanai before pulling them into an awkwardly uncomfortable embrace, laughing as they squirmed. 

“You’re a lot nicer to me now,” Giyuu remarked as Sanemi let go.

“What, do you hate it? I can be mean to you, if you want,” Sanemi said, slapping the back of Giyuu’s head.

“…I prefer you nicer,” Giyuu mumbled, rubbing his neck.

Sanemi smirked. “Then don’t complain.”

“I wasn’t complaining!”

“I feel oddly left out of this conversation,” Obanai cut in, arms crossed.

Giyuu glanced at him. “Welcome to the club.”

“Oh, shut up. You purposefully go out of your way to not talk to anyone. I don’t do that.”

“Fair enough.”

Sanemi put a hand on both of their heads, patting them. “Let’s go somewhere where we don’t risk Uzui randomly popping up.”

“We can go to my house?” Giyuu offered.

“Lead the way, Tomioka,” Sanemi said and the three set off.

And then their relationship tilted and went much further in a spiral of emotions both sweet and bitter, leaving them in dizzying entrancements in the others’ hands, lost in the darkest depths of their gaze. The relationship seemed to open up a lot of trust in each other, reopening past wounds on display for the other two to see. At first, it was a bit iffy and they tread carefully in the shallow waters of the shore of an ocean of trust. As time went on, their trust was built upon hundreds of many stepping stones. 

Obanai was, maybe, the first to depict his trust to them in obvious ways. Given that Sanemi was the only of his boyfriends to know about his scar, he had to make Giyuu turn away or force him to wear a blindfold in order to gain a kiss. It irritated him to the point he pushed away his doubts and showed Giyuu his scar. 

It had gone rather smoothly, such as Sanemi’s. Giyuu still had trouble coming across with his emotions and tended to push them down or at least away from his expression. So his shock was barely there and he quickly recovered from it, placing a tender kiss along the rough crevice of skin along Obanai’s jaw. Sanemi had been there to supervise, in case anything went wrong, but it all went by quite quickly and the three found themselves waking up entangled in each other’s limbs, having fallen asleep in what would pass off as an embrace.

At first, they had kept their relationship a secret. But it got tiring having to restrain themself from throwing their arms around one of their boyfriend’s whenever they met, so they stopped trying. They ignored any remarks about their relationship—though they weren’t blind to them, knowing full well that the other Hashira were in complete perplexity over this—and went on with showing mild affection in front of others. They, of course, didn’t want to put their full relationship in display, so kept it at minimum. 

Weeks crept past them, sometimes slowly, other times quickly. It was a gradual process of time that brought the three to a point which they felt they could depict the worst parts of themself and still feel safe in the comfort of their lovers’ arms. Their ups and downs were experienced together and many times it was simply just the quiet presence of the other two that brought them feeling infinitely better.

However, its often said that good things never last. And it came quite suddenly, in fact. One minute, they were talking quietly amongst each other, slowly departing to their mission. Next minute they were admist a battle between Uppermoons, the loss of their master weighing them down. And last thing they knew, they were no longer three anymore. Sanemi and Giyuu found themselves the last remaining Hashira. 

For a couple weeks, they spent their time in the Butterfly Estate, crawling towards recovery. But neither felt much of the need for that, really. Obanai was gone. Everyone was gone. It was just them, now. The two of them, all alone. It really felt like that sometimes. And the silence of the makeshift hospital ward was deafening. There was endless time to be lost in thought but it often ended up with one of them in near tears, trying their best not to appear weak in front of Aoi who was much younger than them with many losses, yet pushing herself to the limits to tend to the hundreds of injured Demon Slayers.

Giyuu healed first. His injuries were lighter, despite having lost half his arm, he had lost considerably less blood than Sanemi. He wandered about aimlessly, wanting to go back to Sanemi but knowing he would probably be met with his sleeping lover. Several points in this time, he would go to the Hashira’s graves. He, with the occasional help of the Uzui’s, would pick flowers and arrange bouquets or make flower crowns to pass his time. He would place them onto the graves of the Hashira, and sometimes on the rank-and-file Demon Slayers as well. And Obanai’s. Especially Obanai’s.

Kaburamaru had been deposited to Giyuu at one point, knowing that he had been dating Obanai before—Sanemi had been far too tender to give the snake to, having nearly crossed the line between life and death—and Giyuu would place Kaburamaru beside the gravestone as he arranged the flowers methodically. He would talk quietly to himself, imagining he was speaking to Obanai.

Obanai had never been keen on words, but he listened. He didn’t mind, he said. As long as he didn’t have to respond.

So Giyuu would continue going there by himself day after day. Given his many, many times of solidarity, he would have an unhealthy amount to himself to think. And his thoughts often subsided in the worst ways possible. He would speak his thoughts to Obanai’s grave sometimes, trying to pretend that Obanai was in his arms, listening. But it never worked.

When Sanemi was let out, Giyuu considered telling Sanemi how he felt. But he denied himself the possibility. Sanemi would be disappointed, and he was probably dealing with worse as he had also lost Genya. So he would bury himself in Sanemi’s chest, trying not to cry as guilt filled his mind to the brim. Why was he here? Why not Obanai? Obanai deserved to be here with Sanemi more than Giyuu did. It just made more sense. Obanai and Sanemi had known each other for longer—at least had been closer for considerably longer. They had even dated long before Giyuu had intervened in their relationship. So why was it that Obanai died? Why not Giyuu?

And Sanemi would be silent, unaware of the thoughts flooding Giyuu’s brain. His arms would rest around Giyuu’s shoulder, eyes closed and head tilted back. They would be like this often. Silent. In fact, Giyuu wasn’t the only thinking like this. Sanemi’s thoughts ran quite similarly, his mind working up the hundreds of different ways things could’ve gone differently, wishing he hadn’t been so incompetent. 

The unfiltered thoughts got to their heads eventually. Nestling a small space in their minds and expanding their homes until all they could think about was how worthless they were. 

Their katanas had been put away, thrown into a closet of some sort. They didn’t need them anymore but the swords had been such an intimate part of their lives that they couldn’t bear to get rid of them. 

The katanas resurfaced, however. Unsheathed. The blades, pulling their skin taut. For a moment, it hovered over their arm, or their leg, or their chest, unwilling to make a mark. Not another.

But then it was done. Blood spilling freely. It came as a momentary relief. They were feeling pain, they deserved the pain. But then it only stung, a harsh reminder that they were stupid.

Neither knew of each other’s own hurting, though both felt similarly. For a long time, they simply avoided the topic of the gradually growing amount of bloody bandages in the trash. The towels, originally white but now pink from stained blood. They spoke nothing of it. Not until Tengen came along to check on them. Both were tired and weary, momentarily forgetting everything they wished to hide from everyone but themself.

Tengen had walked in and taken one look at them. Then he’d excused himself to the bathroom, stalking back with a roll of bandages he’s supposedly gotten from the counter.

He had been furious and it hadn’t taken long for Sanemi and Giyuu to realize that something was about to happen.

He had confronted them about the blood, made both Sanemi and Giyuu admit that they were hurting themselves, hauled them to the Butterfly Estate, chastised them the whole time Aoi tended to their wounds, then promptly moved in temporarily in their house.

Giyuu and Sanemi were both, somehow, shocked at the revelation that their partner was doing what they were themself. 

When they had been let home, the two had cuddled for a bit, silence casting over the room as their thoughts mulled.

“Are you okay, Giyuu?” Sanemi murmured, after a while. 

Giyuu nestled closer against his chest, eyes closed. “Are you?”

“Should we really answer this?” Sanemi said quietly, closing his own eyes and resting his head against Giyuu’s. 

“Not if we want an honest answer.”

Sanemi hummed in agreement, tilting his head down to press a fleeting kiss on Giyuu’s forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice before.”

“I could say the same.”

Sanemi tugged Giyuu up, opening his eyes. “Why were you doing it, Giyuu?”

Giyuu frowned. “Obanai.”

Sanemi’s jaw tensed at the name. “Be more specific.”

“I feel bad. Obanai saved my life during the battle at one point. At another, I was too late to save him. If it wasn’t for Inosuke or Zenitsu or Kanao or whoever had moved him out of the way, he would’ve died. I wasn’t helpful, and probably one of the reasons he did die,” Giyuu mumbled. He felt a small sense of relief upon speaking these words. Often in the past, only saying what was bothering him felt like a huge weight had been lifted from him. He hadn’t wanted to bother Sanemi, so he’d said nothing. But now it gave him a sense of nostolgia, hitting him right through his heart. He let out a breath. “And for you…?”

Sanemi was silent for a moment. When he spoke, he had completely changed the subject. “You know… you’re talking a lot more now.”

Giyuu tilted his head up, blinking, confused, at his boyfriend. “Huh?”

“Did you know that I fell in love with you because of your voice?” Sanemi murmured.

“No… I don’t know why you ever liked me,” Giyuu admitted.

Sanemi huffed. “Don’t be an idiot, there’s plenty to like about you.”

“You changed the subject, Sanemi.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

Giyuu gave in. “Fine. Go on.”

“Well, I liked your voice because it always sounded so… smooth. Elegant, maybe. It fit your breathing form—water. It flowed like water and I loved it. Do you remember when I asked you to speak?” Sanemi asked, nudging Giyuu’s head up to kiss him gently.

“I was confused why you told me to. I thought you wanted to berate me for having a quiet voice or something,” Giyuu whined, remembering his confusion.

Sanemi laughed softly. It felt awkward, his face moving with muscles he hadn’t prodded in a while now. The smile faded from his lips slowly. “I would play your voice over and over in my head. I really wanted to hear you say my name.”

“Shinazugawa?”

“No. Sanemi. I don’t know, it just… belongs more to me,” Sanemi mumbled. “Shinazugawa is my family name, almost everyone calls me that. I didn’t want to hear it from you.”

Giyuu gazed at him. There was a sort of longing in Sanemi’s voice, as if he had turned back to the past and found himself wishing the same thing as he had then. “I can say your name all you want, Sanemi,” Giyuu said gently. “Do you like hearing your name? Sanemi? I like saying it.” 

Sanemi’s cheeks were powdered pink and he shifted, pulling Giyuu on top of him as he gazed up at the cealing. “I do like hearing it. From you, specifically.”

There was a moment’s pause.

“Sanemi?”

“Yes?”

“How did Obanai start to like me?”

Sanemi gave this consideration, heart throbbing at the thought of Obanai. He didn’t want to think about this. But Giyuu asked—he wanted Giyuu to be happier. So he’d give him anything now. “I told him that I liked you. He didn’t like you for a while, but he let me like you.”

Giyuu frowned. “Did he ever like me, or did he just play along then?”

Sanemi shook his head. “No, no, he did like you. He fell for you too, eventually. But he never told me much about it. He just said he was starting to see what I saw in you. A bit after that we asked you out, and you know the rest.”

Giyuu nodded. “Obanai never talked a lot so I didn’t really know what he did or didn’t like about me.”

“Would you have changed if he told you his opinions?”

Giyuu shifted guiltily. “Maybe?”

Sanemi sighed. “I noticed you deliberately adapting to my wants. I was more talkative than both of you, probably. I’m not stupid, though. I could tell you were trying to change yourself.” 

“…well I wanted the best for you,” Giyuu protested.

Sanemi mussed his hair with his good hand. “The best for me is whatever’s best for you.”

Giyuu huffed but didn’t protest any further. He propped himself up by the elbows, gazing down at Sanemi, his hair falling from his shoulders. “Sanemi?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Sanemi’s expression softened. “I love you too.”

“I also love Obanai,” Giyuu added.

“…I love him too,” Sanemi murmured. 

“Sanemi?”

“What is it?”

Giyuu paused. “You haven’t told me why you were… that.” He motioned vaguely to Sanemi’s chest where scars much too recent creviced his skin in a raw red.

Sanemi’s lips tugged into a frown. “It’s… it’s nothing.”

“Sanemi! I told you why I was doing it, you have to tell me why you were.”

“…fine. I’ll keep it brief.” Sanemi reached up, pulling Giyuu back down. “Genya and Obanai.” 

“Huh?”

“I understand where you’re going at with your explanation for Obanai. If I think about it, I can pin point several times I could’ve jumped in which probably would’ve saved Genya’s life—whether or not it took my own. Same for Obanai. Kanzaki was saying something about it, but I wasn’t really listening. Survivor’s guilt, she said. She said that sometimes it feels better to have died than to have survived.” 

Giyuu nodded slowly. “It’s not your fault, Sanemi.”

“It’s not yours either.”

There was a silence—neither comfortable nor awkward. More thoughtful, both consumed in their minds.

“Sanemi?”

“Yes?”

“Do you wanna see Obanai’s grave with me later? We can go to Genya’s after,” Giyuu suggested.

“…alright. Tomorrow, though. I’m tired.”

Giyuu hummed in agreement, nuzzling his neck as his eyes fluttered close. “Tomorrow.”

“I love you.”

“Love you… both.”

A pause. I love you.

Obanai’s grave was covered in flowers, most colorful that could be found. Every day they were replaced with fresh ones, the old ones buried like Obanai.

I love you.

Obanai.

×××

« Word count: 5563 »

When you write endlessly more than you’d planned to

this was supposed to only be 1k words! Wth 😭

I liked writing it tho <3