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It started off like this; Giyuu was nine years old and unable to sleep. He would stare at the ceiling and roll over, breathing in the night air and letting the gentle breeze of the outside world flutter over him through the open window. He was nine years old and very tired, but could not seem to get his mind to shut up and head to stop spinning.
“Do you eat enough?” His mother would fret, checking his temperature. He would frown and nod his head, knowing better than to not keep himself on his feet and his stomach full. His older sister would look over him and shake her head, always worried about him. It was a reasonable thing, really, for he couldn’t not get himself to sleep. His mind would not rest, and neither would his beating heart.
Giyuu’s exhaustion never seemed to warrant the ability to fall asleep until many nights passed without any rest. Tsutako worries about him, brushing his hair out of his face and smudging her thumb under both his eyes. His mother would look at him with wide blue eyes, fearful, and then she’d usher herself away with a pained smile.
Her daughter and her would talk behind thin walls, hushed and concerned. They were desperate to figure out what was wrong, but why had little money. They couldn’t afford a trip to the doctor, and so they were forced to find answers on their own. From behind the wall, his mother would shake her head and whisper something that was utterly heart wrenching. “What if he never sleeps, Tsutako? We can’t lose him, too.”
Giyuu and Tsutako’s father was dead, but the younger sibling of the pair did not know what had put an end to his life. He was sure his sister did, and was sure that when he was older they would tell him if he asked. But he could not fall asleep, and that wasn’t normal for children or adults- Not for as many nights as he found himself being restless. He would swallow his fear, turning away from the walls and shuffling back to his room.
He’d open the windows to get fresh air and blow out all his candles. He’d adjust his pillow and fixate his blanket around his shoulders, tugging it close to himself and watching the moonlight flutter past the airy and wisp-like curtains that his window possessed. The scent of lavender and nature would bellow through, humming soft songs like the morning birds his mother loved so much.
The little nine year old would wait for his turn to come, for his turn to sleep. Under the pale moonlight did he wait, empty and tired and confused. He was a sleepless boy, someone who was too young to spend so long awake without rest. All he wanted to do was dream, to have stories inside his head as the dark sky turned into dawn again and again. He wanted to know what it was like to actually wake up after being ‘awake’ without any form of stop for so long.
A person could not survive long without sleep, no, but it wasn’t like Giyuu didn’t sleep at all. He still closed his eyes and rested his head on his pillow, curled up under blankets at night. He still tried to fall into the darkness that coaxed him all the time, still tried to embrace the cold but welcoming grasp of sleep. That was all he wanted.
After seven weeks of an on-and-off schedule of barely getting any rest, his mother had started to cry. She could only handle so much, and watching one of her children slowly deteriorate and wither away was something she couldn’t bear to witness. Tsutako had given him lavender candles, lighting them in the corner of his room. She had ruffled his hair and hugged him, whispering, “Lavender helps a person sleep, so maybe this will help.”
Both of them had known it wouldn’t, not really, but the lavender had made his head less painful and body less fidgety. Sleep did not come easy, but closing his eyes and chasing fever dreams did. That seemed to be enough, for he spent hours each day doing so- Trying to replicate the feeling of a restful night.
“I can’t sleep.” He had told his mother, four weeks later. He smelled of lavender and sage and frankincense. Any rumor that could help with sleep, and story of using herbs or hot to to lull a mind to rest was how they tried to help him. They could not afford a doctor, and they knew it would be a fruitless visit. There was no way to cure this, there surely wasn’t. They wanted there to be a way, but there wasn’t.
Giyuu didn’t lie to himself about such a thing. He did not want to feed into the reassurances his sister told him, not when he knew they had no truth. They were desperate and sad words, and the little boy knew they would not cure him. His mother had called this a burden that was too heavy, but she had still pulled him close, choking, “I know, Giyuu- I’m so sorry.”
The boy knew that his family was sorry. He knew that he was sorry, knew that no matter what he did it would not help him. His mind could not shut up, and no amount of tea or flowery scents could make him stay in the darkness of shells and sheltered dreams. He couldn’t think all that much, not when he was without rest.
Seasons had passed and went by quicker than he could identify them, and memories of those he had loved were lost to the cold and crisp air of winter. The fresh snow on the mountain had ceased to bring him joy, and he had found himself trembling with a cloak around his shoulders, hiding in a closet.
He had not slept in ten days when a demon came, slaughtering his mother and sister in one night. Giyuu had stayed hidden in the closet, unable to move, unable to breathe properly. His fear and lack of sleep made it impossible to stay awake, really, but impossible to ever even try and fall asleep. The scent of blood and the feeling of nausea was what caused him to cry that day, and the sounds of death was what haunted his mind.
He had been nine when his sister and mother were killed, and three hours later had Tsutako’s fiancé came to the house to see why his future wife had not yet appeared for their normal meeting- The demon killed that man too, and Giyuu hadn’t been able to say or do a thing. The taste of bile on his tongue had done nothing, and he hadn’t even gotten the chance to curl up. His breaths had been placid, and his mind had been malleable.
Four days later, a man came to the house. He had worn a red mask, one out of the many hallucinations Giyuu had after too many days without any type of rest- And had offered a hand to the shaken boy within the closet. Giyuu had whispered, shaking but unable to react, “They are dead, right?”
There had been tears spilling down his cheeks. If he hadn’t already lost himself to the death of sleep, the death of desire, perhaps he would have cried harder in those moments. But he hadn’t, for his eyes had been wide and glassy and he had looked so exhausted- So broken and defeated. A shattered vase that smelled of lavender and sage.
The man’s name was Urokodaki, and he took Giyuu in on that day. The little boy had gone another four days without sleep, and only then did his eyes fall shut and stay closed for two hours. That had been the longest the boy had rested in a long time, and yet it had not done much for the nine year old. The man told him he would get better, that one day he would, but the words had sounded too similar to the despite and sad phrase his mother would say. Urokodaki was not desperate, but sometimes he did sound sad.
The child learned quickly that his grief slipped away like water from a broken bucket. The faces of his mother and sister were blurry and nearly unrecognizable by the time he was ten, although those memories had only been replaced with new ones. He had met another person, shortly after Urokodaki had brought him to a new home. The memories of his real home, the one on the mountain where his mother and sister and her future husband had been killed within, had slowly faded away from his mind.
There had been another child, far away inside the man’s home. They had been there longer than Giyuu had, and their name was Sabito. They were an orphan, similar to Giyuu’s predicament at the time. The two of them were under the care of a man who wore a red mask and ushered them in ways that an adult had never used either of them before.
Giyuu had not been against the rushing of his heart or breaths in his throat. Sabito hadn’t, either, for they loved the adrenaline rush and the sound of wooden swords clashing together. They had loved being able to practice with someone their age, had loved being able to ruffle Giyuu’s hair and laugh.
They had pinkish-orange hair and dull lavender eyes, albeit hollow near the middle and steely near the edges. They had lost their home and family, too, but they were not plagued by a lack of sleep like the other child was. Giyuu had been glad, truly, because his desire for sleep wasn’t plausible, and it would hurt to see his friend suffer from the same fate.
“We are going to be slayers,” The child would whisper to him. Sabito’s voice would never be cruel, would never be hateful. They were patient, unwavering so, and waited for Giyuu to blink himself back into a mindset that wasn’t fuzzy and blurry. The boy would pause, and then smile as best he could. “Okay.”
The two of them would be slayers, would be partners and food friends and would fight the same demons that killed their families. Sabito remembered their family and the face of the demon that killed them all. They remembered the way the sun had been hot that day, and that the night had been extremely cold when the demon had attacked- They remembered all the tiny details perfectly. Painfully.
Giyuu could only remember the words of his sister and the scent of lavender. The wind had filled his head and the morning birds echoed in his ears, but not of his family. He couldn’t remember them anymore. The boy had never, and would never, ask if that was a good or bad thing. He was pretty sure he already knew the answer.
— — —
Greeting And Farewell:
I don’t know how to explain it, but I used to be nine. I was very young and I was scared. I remember the faces of blurry people— They were my mother and sister. I know that. I keep forgetting it, but I promise I do know. I know a lot of things, which is why I keep writing. There’s a lot to write. Too much for me to say, but I’m trying to get it all down anyways.
— — —
It continued like this, when Giyuu was thirteen. He had lost his best friend in a desperate heap of angry limbs and gore, whereas his own head had been pounding and blood had been spilling. It continued like this, four years later after his sister and mother were killed- Including Tsutako’s fiancé.
An abrupt death had been what ended Sabito; The crushing of their skull. In order to save Giyuu, they had to save their life to end last. Giyuu waited at the house, holding what reminded of his friend’s haori. His stomach growled and his mind spun, plagued by an exhaustion that he could not will away no matter how much he tried. He waited and listened, hearing his slow heartbeat and quiet breathing.
Sabito had saved everyone, many times. No one had died in the Final Selection but them, no one at all. Maybe bits and pieces of Giyuu crumbled away, to reveal a bloody and sleep-deprived mess of a thirteen year old, but that was not the same as death. It did not even compare to what it was like to die, what it was like to be cornered in your last moments and forced to give up.
“They aren’t coming home,” Giyuu said, quietly. His mind was blurred together, his voice sounding muggy and far away. He was back home, on the porch of Urokodaki’s establishment. He couldn’t remember how he got here, but he knew he had passed the Final Selection, and that he had walked home. He had walked, carefully, quietly, and had been as bloody as his friend’s corpse must’ve been.
He had run a bath for himself, and had drowned in the bubbles for several moments before forcing himself to stay out of the embrace that tempted him. Death and sleep looked too similar to each other, too familiar and too close to be given up. Perhaps if he reached out, just enough, his hand would brush one of them and he would be taken in.
“I know, Giyuu,” The man said, and the gentle breeze ruffled the man’s hair too. Urokodaki was patient with him. The thirteen year old swallowed thickly, again. His voice was a broken wisp in the air, something so quiet, something nearly non-existent, “I wish they were. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring them home.”
“It’s not your fault, so don’t blame yourself,” The man said firmly. His voice was quiet, though, a husk of what it normally would have been. He was grieving for the loss of a child, and the loss of spirit for another. Grief was a sad thing, something that haunted people for as long as they could remember their pain. I wish I could agree with you, Urokodaki-San. Urokodaki gently placed his hand on Giyuu’s shoulder, “Please get some rest, Giyuu. You need it more than anyone else right now.”
Sabito had been the one to give Giyuu more lavender. They had always been there at night, waking up when the raven tossed or turned too much in one go. They had always been a light sleeper, willing to assist others no matter how dire a situation became. That was why Giyuu found them to be so nice, so kind. They cared even when they didn’t have to.
“Are you okay, Giyuu?” They would ask, in the dead of night. Too many hours had been spent tossing about, screwing his eyes shut and trying to get lost in dreams that his brain could not create. He had not been okay that night, for he had gone eight days without real sleep and the lavender had no longer been soothing him, but it wasn’t like he had any energy to say that. So he didn’t.
“I can’t sleep,” Was what he had whispered into the darkness, having pushed himself upwards into a sitting position. Sabito had done the snake within a few seconds, and they reached up to rub at their eyes. Giyuu had waited, used to this type of conversation. Part of him knew it to be a routine, one common enough to try and hold onto, even as his memory dissipated into fogginess.
“Tonight I can’t either, so let’s stay up,” The other child had announced, but they had been very quiet. Neither of the children had wished to wake up their guardian, so they had both been awfully silent. A small but confused smile had appeared on Giyuu’s face, and he had suppressed a tired sigh. He had always been tired it seemed, but it had only started to worsen once he was nine.
He went many days without a single moment of rest, passing through the motions flawlessly but not remembering anything at all. Urokodaki told him that he was sick, that he was unlucky enough to be given this burden so young- But all Giyuu had done in response was shrug weakly and meet his mentor’s gaze, pitiful and resigned. Not being able to sleep was his punishment, maybe, for being too weak to have helped his family when he was far younger.
“Okay,” He had agreed, not wanting to dwell on how unhealthy it would be for the other child to stay up just to be company for Giyuu. He had not wanted to upset his friend, not when they had been offering to stay up with him. Sabito had always been the first to offer comfort, and the first to stay awake through the long evening while murmuring wild things- Dreams, wild ones without any boundaries to stop them, to Giyuu as he hummed in acknowledgement.
He acknowledged everything that was before him, everything that was around and inside of him. The tumbled reality of glittering stones and pale moonlight, the world that never stopped moving forwards even when the little boy breathed in and could not exhale. The world would continue moving on, with or without the child’s agreement.
Giyuu learned far too quickly that his restlessness would be what got him killed, what got him so attached to the reassurance and comfort his best friend had given him. The wind tickled his skin and the sounds of laughter from distant memories drove him forwards, growing inside his head for what they meant to him. But his mind was scattered and left untouched, unfinished. Some things slipped past his fingers, slipped away and never came back.
The thirteen year old stared at his friend’s haori, with the old man’s hand upon his shoulder. Urokodaki waited for him to reply, waited for Giyuu to say something at all. After several minutes, the boy exhaled shakily and brought the fabric closer to his chest, holding it for all that it was.
He knew that he would not sleep tonight. He knew that he would not rest for quite some time, not physically or mentally, and not emotionally. He knew that he would not get any rest, but this time, he would not even have the comfort of staying painfully awake with his best friend. They were dead now, and so was the part of Giyuu that wished for night to appear.
— — —
Hapless:
My name is Giyuu Tomioka. I forgot my name earlier, in the midst of a mission. I am fourteen years old. I am a Kinoto within the Demon Slayer Corps. Some people called me “Yuu”, although I can't figure out who. I don’t know yet. I’ll list it here when I get an answer. It might have been my friend. I know I had one, when I was younger. They had pinkish-orange hair. Sunset colored. They are dead, so it would make sense why no one calls me “Yuu” now.
— — —
It continued onwards like a moving river, flowing over rocks and spinning throughout gashes within the rich earth that everyone walked upon and hurried their kinship within. Giyuu was fourteen, sitting alone at a safe-house after a mission. His backs ched and his ribs were sore, bandaged tightly. He had not slept in eleven days, and had only caught glimpses of unconsciousness through the scent of lavender and clary sage.
The ground and walls of buildings had begun to twist under his feet after the fourth day, an old routine in his mind, and the world around him had grown blurry upon the fifth day. There was nothing he could do to fix the hallucinations besides inhale the air and assure himself that it wasn’t actually there.
Exhaustion wore heavily on his head like a crown, one made of obsidian and self-hate. Closing his eyes did nothing to help him, and breathing out loud to regulate a pattern could not assist the weathering feeling that flickered inside his gut and chest. Perhaps he was turning to dust like the demons did, was slowly fading away with each day spent wandering and killing the creatures who stared at him like he was crazy for moving without any direction-
But without sleep, there was no direction to go in. The demons saw a slayer who was frail and sickly, who had deep bags under his eyes and exhaustion laced throughout his form. They never expect a challenge when Giyuu appears, for he looks like he is always about to kneel over. He wasn’t, claeraly, for he had not yet been killed.
He was counting the hours and minutes, counting how many days he could continue before his body gave up on him. Even when he felt ill, when he was so exerted he couldn’t even roll over, he could not fall asleep. He could not pass out, could not stay under the water of reality and consciousness. Giyuu was bound to jolt back up with a stuttering breath, eyes wide and flickering.
“Are you alright?” A girl asked, and he looked away from the garden of vegetables. He did not want to be inside a house right now, not when his mind was heavy like a stone and his eyelids dropped but refused to stay shut. The person in the garden with him was the daughter of the adults running the wisteria-house, the daughter of the man who tended to his wounds only hours before.
“It’s been a long day,” He exhaled, looking back at the trees and flowers all around him. His ribs and sides ached, and his hands had been wrapped and treated from being burned. He had killed three demons in one hour, assisting a small village from the plague that beasts such as demons caused. A plague made entirely of fear and blood, yes, now only he had caught it. That was fine.
“Have you tried drinking chamomile tea? Or valerian root tea?” She asked, carefully. Her hair was a deep mahogany color, and there was still a yellow hairpin holding her hairdo in place. She had been the one to help him into the wisteria-house after he climbed the mountain to reach it, limbs heavy and mind hazy. He had his side-bag slung over one shoulder, notebooks and a few other things inside. After defeating the three demons, he had read the journals and refreshed his mind.
The urge to sleep tempted him, but it would never be close enough for him to try. He had ignored it hours ago, and he was ignoring it now. Sleep would not help him when he couldn’t even taste it, couldn’t even own it. No amount of money could buy him an hour’s rest.
“Any tea that might lull me to sleep, yes. I’ve tried every trick in the book since I was nine,” He explained, softly. His breath expanded in the air, almost unreal. He continued to stare at the flowers and branches, memorized by the differing shades of purple swirls. When he looked back up, the girl was gone.
He blinked, confused, but before he could do so much as think about what happened, the girl came rushing back out into the garden. It seemed that she had gone inside to grab something for him, because now she came scuttling back to where he sat on a bench. She had a tray in hand, and her expression was something concerned and nervous once she was close enough for her features to be seen.
“I’m sorry for bothering you with this trouble, Miss,” He mumbled quietly, apologizing once she was beside him again. He did not know why anyone would wish to tolerate his lack of comprehension and reactions, even if it was their job to do so. Distantly, he could recall a man with a red mask always trying to help him remember things; But he pushed that blurry memory aside. He had journals and pages of notes, things that he re-read every few hours.
That helped put him at ease, helped make him recall all the things he had already done and knew before now. At one point, when he was really young, he knew that his memory had been pristine. He had been healthier then, too, and had been able to sleep whenever he wanted. That had been many years ago, though, and he knew that sleep no longer came easy at all. Neither did memories.
“It’s no worry at all! You are a slayer, and I’m in debt to you. Please, try this,” She shook off his apology, offering a quick bow before extending a small tray with a cup of tea on it. He blinked, confused, but he carefully extended one hand to pick the cup up and grasp it. The liquid inside was hot and steam wavered in the crisp air, but he did not recognize it.
“May I ask what it is?” Giyuu inquired, softly. He wondered if it would make him fall asleep, for it seemed to make his head stop spinning just from inhaling the steam that wafted off it.
“It’s poppy seed tea,” She said quickly, waving one hand as the other grasped the tiny silver tray. She was worried about scaring him, about making him sick or uncomfortable. He wondered if she was worried he was upset, for he did not react with smiles or laughter like other slayers might. Like other people might.
Giyuu merely couldn’t express himself, not like he wanted to. He knew how to swing a sword and breathe in a way that granted him strength and speed and a strong sense of resilience that could not be cut down, but that did not save him from exhaustion. His hands refused to cooperate some days, and his mind flickered in the darkness of night while he walked to find demons and kill them before they could kill a human.
He knew the taste of ash and smoke on his tongue, as well as the taste of tea that would burn him up from the inside. He wasn’t a child who was locked within a room on his own accord, drinking up the moonlight of reality. He was fourteen, and he had tasted blood and death for what it truly was; A beautiful burden that crushed a person’s soul. Death was saddening and existed in the shadows of everyone’s life. It did not go away for as long as you breathed, but it did not haunt you until you were nearby- Too close to the coldness, and too far from the brightness of the world.
The slayer never moved from life or death, and only ever tried to follow the clouded skies of what it meant to ‘feel alive’. He did not want to suffer anymore than he already had, even if his memories were foggy and each mission he completed only added onto the pile of thoughts and feelings that he could not identify or recall ever having. He lost whatever he gained, and that included the ability to remember who he was.
“It might help make you less restless,” The girl said, faintly. She wrung her hands out in her kimono, clearly worried and anxious over something or another. This safe-house was surrounded by wisteria and lavender flowers, a beautiful area of lilac and flowery petals.
Demons would not dare to climb this mountain, not when the flowerbuds were blooming and death seemed so far away. It wasn’t close enough to grant passageway, wasn’t close enough to make the risk of being slaughtered worth it. He was glad the wisteria smelled so strongly, even as it made his head pound and chest ache. It was like a flower field, only by a bit, but maybe that was to be expected. There were flowers all around, after all.
The wind tickled his cheek, brushing over his bandaged hands. His haori curled in on him, keeping him warm. He stared at her for a few more moments, before letting a weak and tired smile become present on his face. “Thank you, then. Thank you for taking care of me while I rest.”
— — —
Share Fail:
It’s strange. I took up journaling to help myself. To help my mind. I cannot sleep, it’s been thirteen days. I’m exhausted. The walls move, and I hear a buzzing. It’s not real. I know it’s not. But it still tricks me when I’m alone. I wish there was something that could get me to stay under, not dead but not quite alive either. My name is Giyuu Tomioka. I am fifteen, and I will be sixteen in two months— On February eighth, that is my birthday.
— — —
It continued onwards, far, far, far into the future. He knew it would continue forever, until the inevitable happened. He would die one day, and that much was obvious. Giyuu’s body was weak no matter how much he maintained it, eating well and taking breaks even if they did not give him anything in return. His lack of sleep made his functionality drop, and his comprehension waver.
Sometimes his body rejected food, and he sat with an empty stomach and an empty mind, and other times everything was easy and malleable in his hands. Every now and then, if he worked hard enough and kept moving without mercy, his eyes would stay closed for a few minutes and his body would melt into a puddle of relief at the feeling of rest- That never lasted long, but it saved him from himself when things became too much to bear.
He was fifteen, and had been a Kinoe for three months. He had worked hard to reach this point, careful not to overstep any boundaries along the way. He was walking a thin line, one that blurred more and more every day. Sleep only visited him after many weeks of restless turning and wandering, blood staining his hands and a lack of energy staining his heart.
He conquered a demon’s temple, cutting their head. A week ago, that had been when he killed the creature in one slice. One move, flawlessly and without hesitation. That demon had been Lower-Moon One, but all Giyuu had known was that it had bitten him before it had fully turned to ash. His shoulder aches with the fangs of a monster dogging in, but death had not yet come to embrace him, and so he lived another day.
Bandages were wrapped around his body in numerous places, keeping his insides in and blood from spilling. The room he was in was full of sunlight, the doors to the side were slid open and revealed a lovely garden, wisteria trees blossoming in the season. The weather was nice, and the sun shone brightly high in the air.
Now he was in a manor, the one belonging to the master- The real one of the Corps. The person who made sure that all the slayers got paid and were alive to the best of their abilities, the one who stared ahead and called them all his children. The leader of the Corps was a good person, one who was not shrouded in naivety or anything else. He knew what he was doing, and knew he would one day die. His illness was terminal, a curse of his family name.
Giyuu knew that his own illness, his lack of sleep that made it impossibly hard to do much of anything more often than not, was a forever-thing. It would not go away, and no amount of medicine could ever be expected to fix it. He had talked to many healers after missions, his words short but not crude. “I’m sorry to ask, I am, but is there anything you can do about long-term insomnia?”
Most said the same, said to be careful with medications and that they could try and prescribe him something for the effects. And he was careful. He was too careful, too sparing. He used the medicine when he went for a week or more without getting so much as a combined thirty minutes of real rest. He knew he could be taking the medicine every night, knew he could take it every time he tried to sleep if that was what he wanted- But he knew it wouldn’t actually help him sleep.
So he was careful and quiet and kept to himself. He wrote notes with shaky hands, circled and underlined locations in maps. He number-coded things, debated on tattooing words into his left forearm so he wouldn’t forget what he was or who he had become. He had a best friend at one point, someone who saved him in the Final Selection.
Their name slipped through his hands most nights, but sometimes he would catch glimpses of a child with pinkish-gold hair who called him ‘Yuu’ and promised to be slayers together. Sometimes his mind was generous enough to relay prior events, happy things and words in his ears and eyes. Those were good days, good nights, the times where he could remember how happy he had felt when he was with another person who cared.
Giyuu had ink spilled over paper and random words written down, phrases and ideas that rang important to him once before. His past-self had not wanted him to forget it, and so he had scribbled it down in short-hand to make sure he did not forget what he desired so dearly. There was a man in a red mask in his mind, handing him ginger tea and telling him to be careful.
There were two women who looked like him, one in red and one in dull blue. They had taken care of him, had given him lavender candles and hugs. In his mind, he knew they cried over him. He also knew they were dead. Somewhere in his head, past all his conflicting thoughts and emotions, whispered a voice that told him he was not at fault. It whispered that those two had been his older sister and mother, and that they had loved him dearly. Who could love a forgetful and sleepless child such as him?
Apparently those in his childhood could, for he had many notes and pieces of parchment left with dark-blue stains and words telling himself how much those in his life cared about him. He knew what to expect when his head started to pound, when his heart ached for something that he could not identify and when his skin prickled. He knew what to expect when his ire turned upside down, and a demon’s head turned to dust quicker than he lost his footing and forgot what had only just happened.
Giyuu was in the master’s home, visiting the man who ruled over the Corps and kept them all safe. Or as safe as demon slayers could be, for the people who climbed the ranks of this group were bound to see death and violence more than a new dawn. The night was black and bloody, and anyone who joined was quick to learn such a thing.
“Have you thought about it?” The master, Oyakata-Sama; That was what everyone called him, asked. Their voice was placid and airy, something out of a wishful fairytale. A storybook that held no bounds, that had too many pages that were blank and ready to be written upon. Phrases and poems and melodies made to enlighten scared children and lost souls left to wander the shores of the afterlife, waiting for their fair share of peace.
“I’ll be dead soon, Oyakata-Sama,” He said, quietly. He stared at his reflection in the tea he had within his hands, the green surface soothing the parts of his mind that would not leave him alone. If he became a Hashira, it would not be fair. He would waste others’ time, as well as his own. A human could not survive long without sleep and food, and he knew he was already dwindling away. “I don’t-.. I can’t appear as someone strong, only to die off.”
The manor smelled of wisteria and sage, but not enough so to comfort him. He preferred the scent of lavender and frankincense, but he also was familiar with blood and tears. He knew what the world had to offer him, and it would not be kindness for much longer. Each dawn was something special, yes, that warmed his frigid soul, but he was too tired to admire it for long.
Within the manner was too nice, too heavenly. It was safe and peaceful here, and he was trying not to yearn for what he did not deserve. He wished he could lay his head down in clouds of burning lavender smoke, wished he could steep poppy-seed tea with hands that did not shake and a mind that was not flickering and falling apart near the edges.
“Giyuu-San,” The master spoke, and their voice pulled the fifteen year old out of his thoughts and spinning mind. He knew that this meeting was generous, that this meeting was to discuss if he was willing to move to the highest rank within the organization. He wished he could, really, he knew that if he was given the title of Hashira he could do better and do more than what Kinoe’s were permitted- But he could not join the ranks of the top swordsmen if he would die soon after.
“I’m sorry,” He bowed his head, knowing that this meeting had been a waste of time- A waste of the master’s day, a waste of tea and kind words and soothing tones. Giyuu would not be able to do anything more than he already tried to do. He was not a strong person, not in the way that most needed him to be. Without sleep he remained silent and dizzy, passing through the motions and stages of time and life.
“Don’t apologize, my child,” Oyakata said, and only briefly did the Kinoe think that he sounded chiding. Perhaps the master did, and Giyuu merely could not tell anymore. Social cues and tones went right over his head, like a blade slamming into his side. He could not remember what it meant to be alive, to be well, and to be okay. But he could try, and although he tried more than he succeeded; That was fine, too. The master’s words were gentle, “It is not your fault.”
But maybe, somehow or and some way, it was. Maybe when he was young he ate a cursed fruit like some of the fairytales talked about, or maybe his family had been cursed by something greater than Mother Nature or demons and devils and ghosts of what haunted tenor ancestors.
“You mustn’t think in such a way, please. Rest your soul,” The man said, as if he could read Giyuu’s mind. Perhaps he could, for the master was an empathic soul. Logical and good and unattended, not yet lost in the midst of death and violence. He was not desperate, not unkind. He wanted what was best, wanted the demons to go away and for Muzan to be defeated. “You may stay here, in the manor. You are too young to be forgotten by the ghosts of what haunt you.”
“That will impede your kindness,” Giyuu murmured, suddenly a lot more tired than he had been a while ago. The master did not have time to deal with children who were lost on their own terms, not anymore than he already gave. The master had children of his own, had a wife and crows and flowers and a life to live- He did not need to be impeded by the weight of a sleepless Kinoe who could not seem to get better.
Oyakata smiled gently, “My kindness has no bounds, Giyuu-San. Rest your soul for a bit, here. It will not harm anyone.”
“I don’t understand,” The Kinoe whispered, because he really didn’t. He knew how to take care of himself, knew that he could one day rest easy once death came and guided him away somehow- But he knew that wasn’t a solution to anything. Giyuu knew that as a person who tried so hard to be good by everyone else’s standards, did not deserve to suffer for weeks on end without ever feeling tranquility.
“You are a good person, Giyuu-San,” The master said, again, smiling softly. The leader of the Demon Slayer Corps was a good man, a good person, far better than what the Kinoe would ever become. Oyakata looked at him through foggy eyes, white and dull but not lifeless. His smile turned sad, only a little, “So please, rest.”
He found this to be surreal, something made-up and untrue- But his mind would never make a meeting so intricate and genuine, not when he couldn’t even think in coherent thoughts. He stared in mild surprise, pushing his doubt and disbelief deep within his soul. Bowing his head, he gave in without any arguing. “I will, Oyakata-Sama.”
I will try to rest my soul, for I cannot rest my mind or body. Giyuu’s mind echoed, a mere promise that corned itself for all it was worth. The teacup in his hand was still warm, and he stared at his measly reflection. He could not recognize himself, but that was him. Giyuu Tomioka, the fifteen year old who had no dreams or chances to sleep.
Giyuu Tomioka, the Kinoe who killed deacons without hesitation but without any form of rest. How pitiful could he be, looking at his own reflection. He was a husk, a shell, a wisp of a person. Pale skin that was brushed with permanent eye bags, painted with bruises and scattered cuts and nicks from rubbing too hard or pulling at his cheeks.
— — —
It went on like this; The scalding weather did not faze him much more than his lack of wellness. His crow, Kanzaburo, delivered him messages. It forgot to tell him things too, just like how he forgot certain things within only a few minutes of learning them.
Giyuu spent most of his time at the manor tending to flowers and sitting at the porch, watching the Ubuyashiki children play. The master did not keep him here, he had free reign to leave and go on missions whenever he pleased- There were no shackles on his existence.
His blade was tucked away within its sheath, and he was careful to wrap himself in his haori. Today will be a good day, He told himself, nodding along as if someone was reassuring him rather than it being his own voice. He was sixteen years old, it had been a year. Today would be a good day, for he would remember what would happen. And if he did not remember, he would write it down to recall the next day.
“Giyuu-San,” Someone called out, and he blinked. A familiar voice grasped his ears, gentle and curious. Looking over his shoulder, only after his feet were firmly planted on the ground in proper shoes so he could go and do what he was good at, he saw a girl with short white hair staring back at him.
His voice was a mere wisp of air, but he met the purple gaze of a child and suddenly his plans to go on a mission were frozen in time. He could wait a bit, could take time and be there for a child or two or as many as there was. “Ah, hello.”
“Are you off again?” The girl; Nichika, his mind reminded him softly, asked, peeking around from the corner. She was the second oldest child of the master, the one who sought him out the most. Giyuu knew that the children in the manor were in his memories, were in his heart. He knew that he was good to them, careful and able to watch them play when Amane or Oyakata could not.
Although his mind was often too distant to offer a good conversation, he knew how to play schoolyard games and knew what it was like to be terrified of failure, or forgetting. Too many sleepless nights and hazy mornings had warranted him the right to be scared and worried for his memories, and so even though he could not recall most days-He could recall reading journals and notes about them.
“I wish to go, yes, but I will stay if you ask me to,” Giyuu answered, nodding once. The child looked at him, bobbing her head slightly to mimic what he had done. Her older twin sister would come to find her soon, if she remained alone. Or perhaps Amane would, for she was a good mother. “Is something wrong, Nichika-Sama?”
“No, you just look wary today,” Nichika whispered, as if it was some kind of secret. Maybe it was, to the little girl who now waited for him to reply. Dull eyes that were actually full of life and joy stared back at him, and he exhaled, something like laughter very brief in his voice. It was a good type of laughter, not cruel or mocking. He found the generosity of others to be conflicting, but he did not mind it. He was grateful for it.
“It was a restless week, that’s all. I’m grateful to have you care so much, Nichika-Sama,” He said, humbly. She gave him a shy smile, one of concern, and he tried his best to return it. Carefully, he turned around fully and crouched back down, not wanting to be too informal. “You mustn't spend so much time worrying over me.”
He was not perfect, for he forgot many things and many words. He was scattered, a torn portrait of a human, but he could still pick up his sword and swing it. He was good at that, and so he kept up with demons better than anyone else. If he had to be bad at sleeping and being alright, then he would be good at forcing his limbs to move and mind to spin in endless circles. He could take down demons just as quickly as he could grow frustrated with his lack of sleep, frustrated at himself for not being able to fix it.
“Will you be back soon, if you go?” The four year old mumbled, and he blinked again. His eyes were dry and he could not see everything clearly anymore, but as of lately it had been less bothersome and more tedious than anything. He nodded once, “Of course.”
She looked at him oddly for a moment, almost nervously, and then extended one hand; Pinky out and eyes hopeful. Hopeful but so worried, and it made his heart ache for how concerned she was over his health, “Promise you won’t forget…?”
“I promise,” Giyuu said, not a moment later, and he extended his own frail hand to lock pinkies with her. It may have been a childish way of signaling a trusted phrase, to signal that he would not break his promise, but if it brought the girl reassurance, then he would gladly do so. Even though he was distantly attached to reality, barely here but not quite gone just yet, he wasn’t entirely cold.
Nichika blinked, and she smiled brightly at him. He returned the expression as best he could, exhaustion wrapping around him but not quite feeling as heavy as it should. It had been a bit easier to live lately, in the year he spent watching the children and going on missions whenever the chance arrived. He drank poppy-seed tea under wisteria trees and played schoolyard games to keep the Ubuyashiki family’s children content.
Although he could be off, running about full time and doing everything that a slayer should- He wasn’t. He was here, in the safety and carefulness that the manor provided with all of its inhabitants. His sleeplessness did not haunt him for long, for each morning was anew and he drank tea of many flavors. He read the journals and notes, tended to the flowers with limited knowledge but not with hesitation. He was here, tucked away in the beholding safety.
He would return after every mission, note in hand from where he had written it down. Kanzaburo would deliver him directions, a routine ingrained in his and his crow’s mind. Before each mission, though, he would say his goodbyes, and then he’d go. It was a cycle.
The Kinoe, or Hashira; If you truly wished to call him such, did not stay alone for long. He was always welcome to return to the mansion that Oyakata ruled over. It smelled like wisteria and sage, but Giyuu’s room smelled heavily of lavender and blood. That was okay, too, for it was familiar and he had always done better with familiarity.
— — —
Entirety:
Someone told me to run. Someone told me to leave this world behind. I don’t know who it was or where they went or what they looked like, but they said I needed to run. I think they were scared. There was a demon. It had tried killing them, and me by an extent— My hands hurt. My eyes are teary. I think the person got stuck and killed, and now I’m alone with a corpse of a monster. It’s the third day of March. March third, then. March third. I’m sixteen, and the noise is unbearable.
— — —
It kept going on like this, pushing a soul further and further along the lines of survival despite how weak he truly was. March came and went with a flurry of wind and humming from birds, and an entire cycle of seasons came and went in the baring of a new day. Dawn streaked over the earth, and so did dusk and midnight until two years had passed.
Blasphemy; The world continued to pull Giyuu Tomioka forwards even though his body had dwindled and his mind was lost in fields of lavender and sage and potent wisteria poison. Cups of poppy-seed tea were left inside his stomach, weakened by a building tolerance. His mind twisted and churned, but he read letters written by his past self and let himself feel the rawness of guilt. It chipped away at him, the way his mind was tainted with forgetfulness as severe as this.
The corpse of a demon was below him, fading away. It was turning to ash, slowly, meticulously. The guilt of not being fast enough haunted him, and the guilt of not being strong enough to do better curled in his gut. Poppies on his tongue, flowers in his hair and drowning his senses with thick hazes of lavender and quiet buzzing. Birds and crows confiscating shiny trinkets, his doors open and revealing pale sunlight to stretch through his room.
But this was a forest, not his room back within the mansion that Oyakata had generously given to him two years ago. This was a forest, barren of life beside the mossy trees, himself, and a stranger with long black hair and gentle eyes.
She had arrived, only moments ago. An order, maybe, or the sounds of demons screaming. Maybe she had heard Kanzaburo calling out times and random things, things that helped Giyuu stay painfully aware of what he was doing and why. Maybe she arrived due to the sound of his sword clashing with the teeth and nails of a Lower-Moon, howling in fury and desperation.
The demon had wanted his flesh, but he had wanted his sleep. He wanted his sleep far more than he wanted death, far more than he yearned for the eternal rest that his demise would grant him. So he moved and breathed and existed among the heaps of upturned earth and streams of water he deemed to be so soothing. He clashed and fought, mindless and without awareness of what was happening.
His lack of sleep only hindered him once the adrenaline rush dispersed, leaving him raw and hardly breathing. But that was fine, for the demon would be dead and his head would return to its natural state of a postponed migraine. He was not without his exhaustion, not without his will to lay down in a field of flowers.
Haunt me, cut me, let me lay down. He would whisper to himself, shaking off blood from his hands- His own or a demon’s. The wind would whisper and the trees would sway. He’d screw his eyes shut, placing his hands over his ears and waiting for another mocking response from the world he lived in. Bleed me dry, just let me rest. I beg of you. I beg of you and everyone else.
“You are wounded,” She said, her gaze raking over his body. Giyuu nodded, not exactly listening but not quite spacing out. He sheathed his sword, gaze trained on the demon fading away. Their eyes were numbered, and they did not have the chance to screech something unholy before they turned to dust and were bitterly blown away. He swallowed thickly, “Ah, it’ll be fine.”
“Are you a Kinoe?” The woman asked, and her tone was concerned and neutral. It was like a feather in the wind, trailing and moving but not quite doing anything but fluttering and flapping about.
“Yes, and you are a Hashira. My apologies,” The Kinoe bowed his head, only briefly. He was so tired, so dizzy. He wanted to pass out and never wake up, wanted to become like one of the fairytale characters that was stuck under a sleeping curse. He was so tired. He could say that during any part of the day, and it would be true.
“I’ve been one for several months,” The woman said, blinking. Her eyes were a soft magenta, almost like a lilac or tulip but not quite. She had already sheathed her sword, now getting close enough to look him up and down. “But you were first to take the demon out, not me.”
“I hadn’t realized,” He said, and that was the truth. It wasn’t a lie, not when he had only been forcing his body to move. He wasn’t the type to pay attention when all he could think about was sleep and how desperate he wanted to obtain it. Like a demon’s desire to walk under sunlight- He was desperate to sleep like a normal person. The other slayer frowned, only barely, “You look very-..”
“Tired?” Giyuu tilted his head, giving the Hashira a small smile. It was saddened and painful, but the emotion that currently plagued him was already slipping past his fingers and disappearing. He looked and felt tired all the time, never quite finding a balance. He wasn’t safe from even stranger’s concerns, and although it was both confusing and rather nice to know outsiders cared for him, he was too dizzy to ever show his appreciation.
One, two, three, His mind would hum, hurtful and nothing more than a drawing realization within his skull. His heart would slam in his chest, and his tongue would be heavy inside his mouth. Calloused hands on his, pulling him past the trees and foliage that most people called the woodlands.
One, two, three, His mind would say, fake and yet far too endearing. He would count the sounds of his own breathing, would count the noise of a choked out breath. Giyuu’s mind taunted him for how forgetful he was, for how his body was easily bruised and torn apart and how his bones were brittle under thin layers of flesh. Scarred and bruised, painted the same shade of eyes. A sickly child, a sickly Kinoe who could have been a Hashira by now.
“Have you slept recently?” She asked, quickly reaching out. Her hands were cold against this skin, but she put pressure on the wound upon his skull. It was a strange type of pressure, different from the pounding and generalized ache he always felt. At one point, the man from his childhood; Urokodaki, was it, had treated it. The man had not been a doctor, but he had known enough
“I can't sleep,” Was his response, a limp and hapless thing. He was too tired to say anything else, too tired to have another conversation as disheartening as the one he always had. It would not be worth the time or energy, and he would rather not waste this Hashira’s time with mindless questions about his health. “But that’s okay. Thank you for caring, Hashira.”
Giyuu would have bowed his head if not for the fact the other slayer was carefully applying pressure, not letting up. She knew what must’ve been an extensive amount of medical knowledge, then, for something slipped past her lips about generosity and flowers and being worried- And he was unable to hear her.
The buzzing if his head returned, and so did the beating of his ghastly little heart from within his chest. Blasphemy, then, for he could not focus and his mind was slipping past his hands and through his fingers. A tedious thing, but to be expected. The buzzing was similar to a bee’s, but there were no bees here, and none left to sting him.
— — —
Their Embodiment, Flowing:
There is a person who has started to treat my wounds and memory issues officially. Her name is Kanae Kochou. She has two younger siblings and really likes lavender flowers. She is the Flower Hashira. I don’t want to forget what she talks about, or who she is. I know I will possibly forget her within the upcoming months, but I hope I don’t. She reminds me of my older sister, vaguely. The way she talks and stares with a soft expression; A flower.
She is a flower, like her alias. I think it’s a bit ironic, because she’s going to wilt soon. Flowers need water to survive. Although I use The Breath Of Water to defeat demon’s, I think my presence as a Water “Hashira” is too much. I think I’m drowning her.
— — —
It went on like the days went by, continuing forwards and without stopping. Oyakata told him he should rest more, that even if his soul was content and his mind wasn’t as hazy as it had been when he was fifteen, he should still let sleep try and find him more often than letting exhaustion come to haunt him.
Giyuu tried to listen to what the master said, he really did. He calmed his sword and drank tea, waiting patiently for something to change. Sometimes he felt tired in a good way, and he would shut his eyes as sunlight draped over him upon one of the many porches of the manor. Sometimes nothing happened, nothing at all, and so he would steep poppy-seed tea and write a note down in one of the many journals he owned.
So here he was, again, in a garden that belonged to Oyakata and the Ubuyashiki family. He sat on the cobble, carefully trimming the leaves of a plant. The master had said there would be another meeting today, for a new person had become a Hashira. Over tea had the Corps leader shared this news, and over the same tea had Giyuu bowed his head and offered his appreciation to that stranger for their abilities and aid.
But now it was mid-afternoon, and the heat of the sunlight made him feel like he was actually on top of the world and not far too many days deprived of proper rest. He looked up from the purple and green nature, and then to the left where a presence of a person had appeared. Before he could ask a single thing, the stranger spoke first, “Who are you?”
“Ah, I was about to ask you that,” Giyuu responded, blinking twice to get rid of the fuzziness in his gaze. The slayer in the garden with him had an open shirt, scars present on pale skin and wild purple eyes. His hair was a turmoil of white and snow-touched wind, and briefly could Giyuu recall this person to match the description of the new Hashira that was said to be joining the ranks today.
“I asked before you,” The slayer replied, albeit curtly. No matter; That meant nothing to the Kinoe on the ground, looking at flowers like he looked at his reflection. He had been awake for eight days now, not sleeping but not quite awake either. It wasn’t the same type of situation as not sleeping entirely, for the hallucinations he was experiencing were solely visual.
“You did,” Giyuu agreed thoughtfully. He shook his head, reaching out and letting his fingertips brush along the dark leaves of the lavender plant. The wisteria bloomed thickly, and only briefly had Giyuu thought of it to be suffocating. But he was used to this place, and for that he wasn’t scared. It was fine. “Giyuu Tomioka. It’s nice to meet you.”
After a long pause, one that involved keeping a steady line of eye contact, the other slayer replied. “Sanemi Shinazugawa.”
“Good afternoon, then, Shinazugawa-Sama,” He greeted, properly this time. He offered a slow nod of his head, eyes barely focused on the person within this area of the courtyard. His hands stilled from where they had been tracing the leaves of a lavender plant, now stuck in time. He frowned slightly, mulling over his thoughts. He shook his head again, the lack of sleep haunting his mind. His tone was placid and curious, almost lost, “You are… The Wind Hashira?”
“Uhuh,” The other muttered, not at all impressed by Giyuu’s lack of knowledge. That was alright, really, for not everyone needed to be. The master was patient with him, so was the rest of the Ubuyashiki family, and The Flower Hashira. He was treated kindly by enough people, and in return he was as kind as he could be to them. The stranger continued, narrowing his eyes at the Kinoe, “Who are you, then?”
“I’m just a Kinoe. I haven’t agreed to becoming a Hashira yet,” Giyuu said, carefully. He had grown used to saying things like that, his voice swishing over the expressions of others and departing with a laugh that wasn’t actually there. The wind rustled his inky hair, and he slowly blinked the waves of exhaustion he faced on the daily away. Sleep would not be his friend, and so he stopped inviting it over. He would merely have to tackle it once he got the chance.
“And why the hell not? If you can become one, you should,” The Wind Hashira said, arching one brow. Although his comment was nearly sharp, nearly accusing, there was another emotion below it. Curiosity, maybe, for what it meant to have a Kinoe sitting on the cobble who was strong- Strong enough to kill one of the Twelve Kizuki, but not taking on the position. Curiosity, maybe, for what it meant to see a Kinoe look so frail and sick and utterly exhausted, within the master’s garden; So quiet and shrill of the screams that laced what it meant to be a slayer.
“It’s fine, apologies. The master should be arriving soon, so once he does I will leave again,” Giyuu brushed over the statement, not wanting to elaborate on his health. He hummed, only barely, for his voice was wispy and hoarse. He was tired, and talking was not doing him any favors. “I think you’ll be okay.”
“What the fuck are you going on about?” Shinazugawa snapped, and his tone sounded confused enough to distract the seventeen year old from the heat behind his words. People were not always kind to the master, even if the man only showed kindness. Grief and guilt and anger could eat away at a person’s soul. That was why he let himself rest, why he listened to the master and let his eyes stay closed even if sleep did not arrive. He frowned, only by a small margin, “It’s-.. It’s in your eyes.”
“What?” The newest addition to the Hashira’s ranks looked startled, even if it was only for a moment. Giyuu brushed the dirt off his knees, careful. The potted plant beside him, the one he had been planning on burying in the ground within the garden, looked longingly back at him. He wished he had possessed the time, only moments ago, to have properly planted it. He supposed he'd have to do it later, then.
“Guilt,” Giyuu said, simply, and his own brows drew together. He knew that his own soul and mind was plastered with guilt, too, so it wasn’t like he forgot how it felt to be drowning on it. Grief and the feeling of not having done enough to save or help someone, or yourself, could get a person killed. It could get others killed, too, and not always literally. The loss of one’s own self, their joy and ability to feel alive, that was death. That would always be death.
He stared at Shinazugawa, then shook his head again to get rid of any further assumptions that threatened to form. That wouldn’t be fair of him to make guesses and pick away at people, not when he could barely pick away at himself. He was waiting for something, waiting and hoping that he would change and be able to sleep again.
“See you, Shinazugawa-Sama,” Giyuu said, quickly. His hazy eyes followed his crow, watching Kanzaburo flap away on old wings. He swallowed thickly, looking back at the man with white hair and dull purple eyes. “The master-.. He means well. He is well. Oyakata-Sama will remember, I promise you. He will remember who has been lost, if that is what you will ask.”
Shinazugawa looked surprised, almost dubious to what Giyuu had said, but could not say anything else. It was as if his body, as feisty as wind was supposed to eb and ever-changing as a storm was, could not move. He had gone rigid, and the Kinoe without sleep had already turned away and carefully grabbed the potted plant from off the ground and took it with him, far away and back to his room within the manor.
The Wind Hashira had looked utterly lost back there, just for a moment. An angry and upset type of lost, where a person was plagued with their own guilt and unable to shake it off. Giyuu knew that feeling all too well, and so he hoped hos words rang as genuine and not of turmoil.
— — —
Similarities:
There is a man who has joined the Hashira ranks. He is called by the name of Shinazugawa. Sanemi Shinazugawa; That is what he introduced himself as. He uses the Breath Of Wind to defeat demons. I think he is consumed by grief. He reminds me of myself. He’s brash and loud from what Oyakata-Sama tells me, but he has a good heart. A good mind. I don’t know what that means, but I know it must be good. Surely. Hopefully.
He had lavender eyes, too. I think he did at least. They were dull and wide. Flickering. Tired. Not as tired as mine, but I think he’s stuck without sleep most nights, like me. Similar to me. I’m too tired to write much now, but I think that it might be okay if I stop journaling for a day or two.
I’ll forget the contents of my life anyways, and it’s not like someone will retell me what I used to know— That might as well be called cruel. There is a kerosene lamp beside me, and I have begun to wonder what would happen if I lit it ablaze and let it burn my skin. I think Shinobu would be upset if she were to treat me. I hope I don’t burn myself any time soon, then. The Flower Hashira would be upset, too.
I think I understand what the man, Urokodaki, meant when he said I needed rest more than anyone else. My hands hurt, so I’m going to bed. I know I won’t sleep. I’ll wrote again later, when my energy isn’t as low as this.
— — —
It surged forwards like a winding river, like the crashing sea and angry roars of waves out in the deep blue. It kept moving, kept going, kept exploring and churning and twisting the average thoughts that Giyuu called his own. A painted picture on his skin, red, blue and gold. Bruises that were struggling to heal, bandaged cuts and scrapes that were barely changing into scars.
The gardens of the mansion were large, places in time where Giyuu found himself leisurely wandering on the occasion he wasn’t on a mission. The Hashira had meetings in this area, he knew that from many conversations with the master. There would be a meeting hosted today, sometime within the hour. He wasn’t sure when it would be, but he knew he would be leaving the gardens to go back to his room or one of the other parts of the courtyard to watch the Ubuyashiki children play again.
“I didn’t realize there was someone here!” Someone announced, and Giyuu slowly blinked. His eyelids felt heavy, and the sun was warm against his skin. It was a nice day out, and the wisteria was still blooming without any signs of ending. The manor was nice during the early mornings and late afternoons, but it was also very pretty at night.
The dark skies painted shadows over the purple flowers and white stones, and the koi ponds reflected moonlight that made Giyuu wonder how pretty life could become. It was a delicate thing, floating in the air or throughout time itself. He liked the idea that nothing could be forgotten if you made a mark, if you left something there and behind for another.
“This is a Hashira Meeting Ground,” The stranger said, but Giyuu recognized the uniform he was wearing. It was the Demon Slayer Corps uniform, and if the man was here, that meant they were here for a meeting. Giyuu wasn’t wearing his own uniform today, for he wasn’t going on any missions tonight, but he was wearing his haori.
“I’m aware,” The seventeen year old paused, trying to gather his thoughts. Perhaps his own lack of comprehension was obvious, because the blonde in the garden did not snap or lose any patience that he was displaying. It was a nice trait, the fact that some people did not waver in their efforts to be understanding or patient.
Blonde and red hair, red and gold eyes. Red, yellow, gold, orange. What pillar are you? Giyuu racked his brain for an alias, trying to come to a conclusion on who was here with him. After a single moment, it clicked, and understanding lit up upon his face, “That means you are the… Flame Hashira, right?”
“Yes! That is me, Kyoujurou Rengoku!” The Hashira announced, still smiling. His loud and booming attitude wasn’t anything that fazed Giyuu, despite the raven’s quiet and drifting nature. He wasn’t one to be loud, wasn’t one to express himself further than a hum or small smile. He was too tired, too restless, to do much of anything in the first place. Rengoku continued, tilting his head at the Kinoe, “Are you new? I’ve never seen you at a meeting before.”
He was not new to the idea of being a Hashira, no. He was far from new to the idea or mindset it would offer him, but he had never been new to it in the first place. He had killed two Lower-Moons, alas he only remembered killing one when he was fifteen; But a month ago, the woman who looked to be a flower, had arrived to see him kill Lower-Moon Four.
The Kinoe did not remember the meeting at all, not really, but he knew that he had written it down. He had written the explanation and tiny quotes, and had mentioned who the Flower Hashira was. He wasn’t entirely lost, no matter how badly his memories had become.
“Oh, no. I never joined the top ranks,” Giyuu responded, tilting his head slightly. He had never asked to join the ranks, not when it had been two years and he was still trying to sort out all of his issues and thoughts. “The master has given me Hashira duties since I was fifteen, but I simply.. Stayed a Kinoe.”
The master would give him the Hashira title if he asked, that much was obvious, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask to be one. He didn’t think he would be of much use as a Hashira, not when he lacked sleep and saw snow falling from the sky when it was summertime. Oyakata said that his hallucinations were from his lack of sleep, and that it wasn’t anything that could be fixed with rest. Until he slept, the ground would keep churning underfoot and the world would stay a blurry mess.
His exhaustion was nothing more than a sign of survival, or perhaps a sign of stubbornness from the body he piloted. He could rest his soul as much as he liked, really, he could. He could drink tea and eat small meals and watch children play during the day, watching them be children; But then as soon as he picked up his blade he knew his prior mindset would be washed away.
“Ah, I never realized. That means you must be Giyuu Tomioka, yes?” Rengoku blinked, but his smile did not waver. It was something that brought the slayer an ounce of comfort, merely because that meant familiarity. He did not know what Rengoku’s personality was, so he was almost relieved at the lack of change in expression.
Oyakata talked about all the Hashira, all in good nature, and for that it was no surprise that he would also talk about Giyuu once a while to his other children. The Hashira had to have known that there was a Kinoe among the organization who had killed two Lower-Moons but had not arisen a rank. They had to be aware of that much, if not a little more.
“The Kinoe did not rise in ranks for reasons I will not be sharing. If one day he wishes to share them, he will. He does not wish to impede you all with any of his troubles, and so he will not be attending.” The master would probably say, voice airy and calming in a manner that no one could compete with. “His name is Giyuu Tomioka, and he will fight on the same level as you, but not with the same title.”
Giyuu was a Kinoe, but he could be considered the very same as a Hashira if it weren’t for his extensive amounts of fatigue and lack of energy. He was alive for the adrenaline, for the ‘pride’ that his life could bring others. The man in his memories, no matter how fuzzy those memories were, had raised him through his beginning insomnia. It had only begun to truly get worse after his childhood friend’s death; Sabito, was his name.
When he was fourteen, sleep became more and more foreign to him. A lack of energy depleted his life’s conditions, but he pressed onwards anyways. Even now, although his state had gotten progressively worse, it had always been bad from the start. Not sleeping for three to eight days had been his normal since he was nine- But at least when he was younger he could still fall asleep after a week.
“Yes. It’s nice to meet you. I suppose not giving my name is a lack of courtesy, my sincerest apologies,” The Kinoe greeted, again, but this time was more properly. He offered a small smile, something so miniscule it was barely there.
“It’s no trouble at all!” He nodded, brightly. A glowing sun, a shiny person, someone who was warm and did not waver in the sight of demons. Giyuu wondered how he could stay so bright and booming when mostpowpwl were dark and laced with gloominess. The man paused, only for a moment, before tilting his head, “Do you not attend the meetings?”
“They are made for Hashira,” Giyuu said, blinking slowly. It was not a tone of disrespect, and his response was not even a rebuttal. But the Hashira Meetings that took place were not meant for him, even if he was permitted to attend them. Oyakata gave him that freedom, to pick and choose what he would go to. He wasn’t officially a pillar, after all, and for that he was able to neglect the communication that came with that title. He bowed his head, “And I’m not a Hashira, so I do not wish to impede.”
“Surely if you have the skills to have the duties and heart of a Hashira, then you also have the dedication to the title?” The man inquired, and he too tipped his head. For some odd reason, he had begun to remind Giyuu of what owls did; For they had wide eyes and tilted their heads. The Flame Hashira had good intent, a good heart, a good soul.
“Maybe if I was better,” He murmured, offering nothing more than a sideways glance at the large wisteria trees. The purple flowers swayed in her wind, pale lilac leaves entrancing him only briefly. The Kinoe winced, realizing how tiresome his words might sound. And even though they weren’t exactly too out of place, he still corrected himself, “Health wise, specifically. I wouldn’t make it very long if I was entirely enthralled as a Hashira, so it was easier to remain back where I can be of more use.”
“I see!” The Hashira nodded. On the other hand, something like recognition was present, chipping away at the edges of his expression. Only by a little bit, though, so small Giyuu almost missed it.
“It was nice meeting you, Rengoku-Sama,” The slayer said, finally, feeling the prickle of exhaustion begin to slip down his nape and down his spine. This was a feeling he had grown used to, for his eyes were hollowed out for all the wrong reasons and his smiles were growing thinner and less optimistic as each week passed. Most of those weeks were spent doing nothing at all, or doing everything he had access to.
Giyuu bowed, perhaps the only sign of him knowing how to act around someone ranked higher than him. Somewhere in his mind he knew it would not particularly matter if he did not bow; For he had already mentioned that although he did not have the official title of a Pillar, he did have the duties and respect of one by Oyakata. That was a warrant for equal ground between him and the real Hashira, but he did not wish to explore that idea in the slightest.
“You as well, Tomioka-San!” Rengoku exclaimed, and something genuine flashed in his eyes. The slight sadness and recognition from earlier had turned into something bright again, something that was more assuring than before. Giyuu wondered if the Flame Hashira understood what it was like to live in the shadow of your own bad-health, or if he had once had someone who was in a similar feat.
He would never dare to ask, for he barely knew the man before him, but he found sympathy pooling in his eyes for the briefest moment. A flash of understanding, a flash of appreciation. A token that was metaphorically passed on to the Flame Hashira through a shaky and exhausted gaze; One that would never reason the liveliness it once had.
— — —
Wallowing:
No more than five. The red ones, the red pills specifically, are made of something that starts with a “-shia” sound. It will help me with my migraines. Only take five. There are white ones, too, but I can’t take many. A girl told me not to take many; I think her name is Shinobu. She was Kanae Kochou’s younger sister, if I’m recalling things correctly. I don’t think I am.
Take three of the pale ones. The ones like crushed seashells. Those are meant to help with nausea, I know that. I am supposed to take them with water. If it makes me vomit, I need to rinse my mouth again and try cutting the pills in half. They will help with nausea, not sleepless nights. I can only take three at a time.
— — —
It started off small, listening to the morning birds call and shriek at one another in gentle skirmishes. But now it was something more endearing than that. The seventeen year old loved the sounds of music, loved how it thrummed in his head and made him feel weightless. He was sick, tired beyond any normal person should and without any form of real reassurance- But that was fine.
The sounds of an orchestra playing in the colosseum, in the large manor of this city. Giyuu watched with baited and half-lidded eyes, listening to the melodies being strung on instruments that echoed in the air. He had not slept in five days, but had breathed in enough lavender to feel as if he was rested and ready for battle. Then again, even with sleep he was ready for battle. It was his routine, his habit, his character trait as a Kinoe.
This mission would be over in a few hours, once the demon was lured out. It struck musical theaters and plays, went after band members and children from choirs. A part of him wondered what it was like to be singing one moment, and then choking on your blood the next as an undeniable pain appeared right after. He wondered how horrified the parents and family were, as they saw their child get murdered in a blur of red and grey.
The mission was over in only one hour, right after the songs ended. Giyuu was quick to act and quick to kill what did not need to exist, cutting the demon’s head off without any hesitation. The orchestra scrambled to leave, and the people were fearful of the blood but relieved- No one quite understands what it means to have a demon present, but this town did.
They all knew what demons were, that had been why they had summoned for a slayer. Giyuu had agreed to go, and although they had sort of doubted his abilities as a Kinoe, he knew better than to worry too much about their opinions of his strengths. His speed and ability to keep going even without sleep was enough to make him a threat, enough to make him wield his blade with an accuracy that was deadly.
He sat on the edges of the stage, his sword sheathed and mind hazy without recognition. The demon was dead, his hands hurt, and he had not slept in five days. The colosseum had been cleared out, and no more people were present. The demon would not kill another, and no one else would be lost to broken songs.
“Tomioka-San,” Someone whispered, and when he looked up, he saw a girl frowning at him; Worried. She had purple eyes, ones that were hard around the edges but softer in the middle. Shinobu Kochou, that was who this person was. The Flower Hashira’s sister, although Kanae was not here.
He went stiff for a moment, frozen in time as he scavenged through his brain for answers. The woman who looked like a flower was the one who treated him, the one who placed him on bedrest every few weeks when his insomnia got horrible. She had met him when he had only just turned seventeen- And he was eighteen now, so it made no sense; But then it did make sense, and dread pooled in his gut. Kanae Kochou is dead. Upper-Moon Two killed her not long ago.
“You are wounded,” She said, and he could feel her hands come to grab at his face. She was too young to be dealing with the hellish monstrosity that was his own agony. Like her sister, she was a medic- A healer. She knew what she was doing. Her voice became a bit sharp, “You let the demon get close to you.”
He nodded, barely listening. His head was pounding and he couldn’t keep his eyes open but they just wouldn’t stay shut and fucking hell he just wanted to pass out. He did not want to be awake anymore, did not want to be breathing and be so aware of how much pain he was in or how his body was fidgeting from the lack of sleep.
Even if it had only been five days, just a mere five, he was being the most active he had been in over a month- And it was weighing heavily on his shoulders. The burden was far too heavy, but he had no one to share its weight to or ask for moral support. He was so tired and so quiet, throat dry and horribly scratchy, tongue limp inside his mouth and mind far too hazy to be safe.
“Couldn’t move,” Giyuu rasped, offering nothing more than his compliance. He wasn’t majorly injured, and it wasn’t like he had allowed the demon to rip him apart limb by limb. The other slayer froze, and he felt her hands fall from his cheeks. She was warm, and his skin was very cold. He felt cold; Tired, cold and drenched in blood that belonged to a demon. Her voice went hoarse, “What?”
“M’ body is getting… Really weak. I couldn’t.. Move,” He hummed, his voice stuck within his throat like how his ability to rest was stuck overseas, still drowning. Sometimes he wondered if drowning would be better than trying to fall asleep each night. Maybe it would be, just maybe, but he knew it would be futile to try. He knew that death would not be of any use to him, not until his body was finally gone and withered away.
The demon had come at him too fast, had appeared and skidded right before him as he covered the expanse of the stage. He was fast, yes, and he no longer hesitated when a demon was near; But his ability to defend once an opponent broke through his defense was not as sharp and keen as it used to be.
“Tomioka-San, that’s-… You should be put on bedrest,” The girl said, voice rising by a small fraction. He wondered if she was scared, if she had finally lost her thinned patience for his presence. If this was Shinobu, she was supposed to be headstrong and more sharing than this; For that was what Giyuu remembered her as. He huffed, shaking his head slightly as his heartbeat echoed in his ears, “I can’t sleep, ‘s too much.”
“I know, I know you won’t but you can’t keep this up, either.” She hissed, the response not exactly sour but far from sweet. Shinobu didn’t need to be sweet, either, not at all. She was too young to deal with the weight of what Giyuu had to offer, for she already dragged her and her younger sister’s burdens with her through the ranks. She was a Hashira, too, he knew this-
He was supposed to become a Hashira when he was fifteen, but he declined. Shinobu became one only a year after her older sister passed. Giyuu wondered if his problems had drowned the flower, just like he had suspected. The Kinoe hoped he hadn’t.
“Mm… Maybe,” He hummed, albeit thoughtfully. He let gentle hands help him up, and he felt the early morning sunlight hit his skin. It was a nice feeling. But he also felt sadness cling to his frame, and confusion dragged his mind through the blood and tears of his own body. His throat felt tight, and he knew something was wrong. Giyuu slowly exhaled, following steps that he could not quite place. His eyes were unseeing, vision blurry, but he looked on anyway, “Shinobu?”
The girl who was tugging him along, keeping him upright and awake and alive, seemed to freeze momentarily at the name. He wondered if he was in the wrong for calling her such a thing, if his memories truly were as fucked up as he assumed them to be. But then he heard a huff, a nearly frustrated but resigned sigh. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Thank you.” He murmured, letting the sunlight hit his face once more. The blood from the demon burned away into ash and smoke, swift and easy. Thank you for trying to care.
— — —
It was a strange thing; Continuing and moving. It kept going, kept moving and climbing higher and higher. He wasn’t sure there was anything left to climb, now, but somehow and some way there would be. It was a winding serpent that threatened to leave Giyuu behind, threatened to let him find a place among the graveyards to call his own.
Once or twice had he contemplated it, just barely questioning if it would be worth the tears shed over his demise. He always determined that his death would bring more pain than relief, no matter how little anyone knew about him. He knew too little about himself, surely, so there wasn’t much of a difference to be said. A world awaited him to explore and find peace within, and so he promised himself to find it.
“Kerosene?” Someone had asked him, while he was at a wisteria-house. One week without sleep, but two days without moving. He had sat up in his bed, brows raising in confusion. The person had laughed, slightly, but it had been a strained noise. He had not questioned it too much, squinting through darkness and seeing the flickering glow of the kerosene lanterns glow back to life. “It’ll burn all of us. You know that, right?”
Yes, he had known that. Kerosene would burn and twist under a human’s fingertips, but what had been in thw room had not been a human. His insomnia kept him up, kept him alive but near death. He wondered what anyone could be asking of him, wondered what it meant for someone to even be concerned with the lanterns made of kerosene that rested upon a small table in the corner of the room.
Giyuu had sighed, and then laid back down. A dream, a fruitless coping mechanism that he desired to possess as his own. His insomnia was not from anything that deserved his praise, and the hallucinations that came with it were not of anything he desired to talk to. They were not real, were not alive, and were not of any importance.
A graveyard of secrets and deaths, He had thought, his eyes screwed shut and darkness licking at his skin. If he had possessed any energy that night, he would have exhaled loudly and curled up. But having lifted himself up to see a shadowy figure that was not even real had taken away all his stability, leaving him without anything at all. Killing demons had been what ran him dry, what left him with nothing but gave him everything.
He had been tired, lonely and without a purpose. His crow had arrived the next morning, fluttering down by the softly burning kerosene lamp. Kanzaburo had cawed for him, old and ancient. His body had chipped itself away, and he had shrugged his weak and shaking shoulders as he revived a new location to go to. His mind has chuckled without humor, silent and loathing, I’m exhausted.
Giyuu knew more than what he let on, but he forgot as much information as he was given. He had screwed his eyes shut for an hour after Kanzaburo had arrived, and then dragged himself out of bed to get things done. He followed through with seven missions directly after that, and had been graced from whatever god existed with three hours of sleep.
Passed out against a tree, his crow on his shoulder and his chest rising and falling carefully. He had not woken until it became day. The blood on his face from a demon turned to ash, brushing away in the hot and crisp air. Three hours was a lot for him, something that he found himself wondering about. Why and how. He was grateful for it, so undeniably grateful, but he was left confused all the same.
The three hours of rest had made his life feel fresh, had made him think that maybe death would not come to him. He had breathed in fresh air, fekt fresh sunlight and a new dawn. Dew underfoot, grass green enough to make his eyes sting. The sky had been so blue that day, or maybe his lack of sleep had finally been replenished just enough to make him feel better.
“You slept for awhile,” A girl with purple eyes told him, restating what he had said only minutes before. She had handed him a cup of tea, and carefully he had
taken it without complaint. After sleeping for three hours in the midst of an unknown forest, he had trekked back to a part of the area he knew.
He had written down several notes in a journal, and then ripped out a page and scribbled down a phrase and greeting to Oyakata. Kanzaburo had croaked something unintelligent, and he had extended his hand out, full of pumpkin seeds. The crow had gobbled those down, nearly choking, than took the rolled up piece of parchment and fluttered away to give the message to the man with neat black hair and kind eyes that never angered.
Afterwards, he walked to an estate- One that was hindered by fuzzy walls in his mind. But he knew it had been a place that would bring him safety and comfort, so he had carefully arrived and asked to see a girl who would guide him with heat rather than with the petals of poppy-seed flowers. Shinobu Kouchou was that girl’s name, and she had stared at him in surprise when he announced he had slept for a bit earlier that very day.
“Are you happy about that?” Shinobu had asked, raising one brow. Her voice had been placid, almost breathy. But he knew she had merely been shocked, had merely gotten stuck in her head for a moment because Giyuu did not sleep, and could not rest. His insomnia was permanent, was long-term and inevitable. But he had felt better that night, after killing that demon, and sleep had came to overtake him for no exact reason.
She had been sixteen, and he had been nineteen. One year to go, one year until he could be free. But freedom came in many forms, and what he was desperate for was the idea that death came and stopped knocking on his door. The master was happy for him when he sent a letter, when he wrote down the shaky words of, ‘I slept for three hours without jostling.’
Giyuu had looked up, away from the cup of green tea she had given him, and to the Insect Hashira who now took over all of his medical procedures and memory issues. Sleep medication came in small vials, things to help with the aftermath of too many days without any rest. She waited for his response, surprisingly patient, and he had finally answered with a small roll of his shoulders, “I think so.”
— — —
It continued and kept rushing forwards, running and never stopping. Time moved by and all Giyuu could do was move along with it, lungs weak and hands covered in blood and ink. He tried to scrub them raw many times, although that never did anything at all. He was still a Kinoe by the age of nineteen, even though he had killed many demons and offered var more than what he gave himself credit for.
“Giyuu-San,” Someone spoke up, and he looked away from the bandages on his hands and the ink that coated them, and then to his open doorway. He normally left his room open, both the porch and the internal door that was connected to the main manor. The sunlight and fresh air never ceased to make him feel like he was back on the mountains, back where the air was a bit thinner and the fields of rice brushed his skin as he ran alongside another child with hollow but excited eyes. It was Nichika, and she smiled at him worriedly, “Do you feel better?”
“I’m alright, just tired,” Giyuu said, blinking once. He had finished his mission yesterday, scraping his hands raw to get rid of poison left behind from a demon. Shinobu had nearly lost her shit when she saw the state of his limbs, although she had been quick to steer herself in another direction and calm down. She had wrapped his wounds, and then jabbed him in the cheek for being so reckless. The Insect Hashira meant well, she really did, so he didn’t mind.
“You are always tired,” She murmured, faintly. Her eyes were laced with fear, with displeasure and concern. He wondered if she was scared he was going to die, scared he was bound to break apart any day now. Perhaps he was, but that was fine. She frowned slightly, “Won’t you rest a bit longer?”
“Maybe… Would you like to have tea, Nichika-Sama?” He asked, after a moment or two. He wouldn’t get much out of resting when his body couldn’t fall asleep and his mind wouldn’t stop moving, but he knew that people worried about him the longer he tried to stay active without at least bothering to sit down and breathe.
The girl lit up at the idea, and for once he was grateful he had just steeped himself a pot of green tea rather than poppy-seed. He caused the child a small smile, something that he wished to offer to people more often, and gestured with a weak hand to the small table where his tea and cus were. Nichika entered his room fully, shuffling to sit down on the other side of the table. She saw the ink on his hands from a spilt jar, but did not question it.
Giyuu reached out and closed his journal, the spilt ink still splattered through the pages. He would clean it up after this. Carefully, the child reached out and grabbed the teapot. She gingerly poured him a cup, and then set it back down. With ink-ridden hands, he reached out and poured her a cup; Then rested the porcelain back and off to the other side. He dipped his head, “I hope your morning is delightful.”
“I hope yours is, t-too,” The girl replied, albeit more brightfully. Even if she was raised to be polite and formal no matter what, Giyuu was not one to remember traditions and how to be formal. His mind was scattered and he knew too little to actively show his kindest self to others, so the most he could offer was his loyalty and the opportunity to talk to others without imposing upon their lives.
“I think it will be. I’m meeting with Oyakata-Sama, for there’s a person I’m supposed to meet,” The Kinoe said. He was going to a meeting within about two hours, and afterwards he was supposed to be meeting someone. He didn’t leave his room all the much unless it was to go on missions, talk to the master, or watch over the Ubuyashiki family children. He would sometimes walk the garden with Kanzaburo during the nights where he was too restless to lay still but too exhausted to go on missions.
“I-.. I think you will like them,” She whispered, quietly. Her hands wrapped around her tea cup, and she stared into the green liquid and met her own reflection. He sat by, idle, gathering his thoughts to present them coherently. Nichika looked back up, offering a small smile, “They are a child. They have issues with their memories, like you.”
“Ah, that would make sense,” Giyuu smiled, softly. He took the tea cup from her extended hands, looking at his own reflection. He had slept for an hour, had shut his eyes and slipped away like sand through his fingers when he had once visited the shorelines. His exhaustion was used to fuel his desire for the adrenaline rush killing demons could grant, but it also had begun to grant him sleep.
This was the healthiest point he would reach. His body was taking food and water and tea, and he was still moving and living. He was nineteen, and he felt only a bit better. He knew he would dwindle away within a few months, and that would be his end, but he did not wish to give in just yet. This life had given him joy for several years now, no matter how splotchy his memories were. He did not wish to give that all up in a matter of a few weeks without rest.
“Their name is Muichirou Tokitou,” Nichika revealed. She looked up from her tea again, back from the green surface that averted with steam and to the face of a nineteen year old who had not slept in eight days. The child smiled weakly, almost assuredly, “I think you will get along. Because you-… You are a good person, Giyuu-San. Thank you for having tea with me.”
“Thank you for being alive, Nichika-Sama,” The Kinoe said, offering the child a smile again. His lips hurt from the strain, and his eyes threatened to fall shut again, but he didn’t mind it anymore. He was used to the feeling, and so it no longer surprised him.
— — —
It continued like this, a harsh winter being present and the death of an innocent family leaving two children behind. There was a boy Giyuu met, on one of the days he was about. A mission gone wrong, maybe, where blood had spilled and death had laid its head upon his shoulders. Tanjiro Kamado, that had been the child’s name; And he had a sister. The child’s sister had been turned into a demon.
“Don’t let sunlight touch her,” He had said, voice hoarse. But he had been oddly calm, oddly aware, oddly at peace. Perhaps his soul was in turmoil, and his head had been sent reeling at the feeling of defeat, but there had been something so horrible about the scene. He had seen death many times, had killed in favor of giving a family the honor of vengeance.
He had been delayed in slaughter many occasions when he was younger, when he was so tired and lopsided he could barely get out of bed to treat his own wounds. But he had never allowed such horrific deaths to appear like this, had never allowed a family to be killed when he was only a two-day travel away- But this time, this time there was nothing he could have done. He could not have run faster than what he had, and could not have appeared on this mountain a day sooner unless he had been a demon and not a human.
“Go to a man by the name of Sakonji Urokodaki; He will be able to help you.” Giyuu had said, eyes hollowed out with what had remained of fuzzy and hazy memories. But he had not shed a tear, had not turned away or blacked out. He had shaken his head, staring at the blood ridden snow. The boy, Kamado, had looked at him with wide and shaking eyes, “Who are you?”
“Giyuu Tomioka,” He had said, offering nothing more than a slow dip of his head. Exhaustion and guilt had been heavy on his shoulders, far too heavy, but he had opened his mouth and spoken to the child anyway. The boy had stared at him with wide eyes, perhaps seeing the ghost of a person they had once known.
That day, there had been an ache in his chest. But now, as Giyuu sat within his room in the Ubuyashiki Family’s manor, he knew that it hadn’t just been an ache of guilt and remorse for what had happened. No, it was far more complicated, something sharp and slippery between his fingertips. It was unlikely he would ever grasp this concept again, but to hit he understood why it had hurt so much.
There was a gaping hole in his chest, a haunting feeling. It crawled through his nerves and up his spine and down his back until it reached his feet. It continued onwards like a raging storm, crashing into his already wobbling stature. He was a kid inside his mind, a child who was running from shadowy beasts and twisting hatred. That was all he was good for, after all.
He was running from his own fate, technically, chasing after dreams that he had never been allowed to have in the first place. Giyuu knew that he was not worth anything at all, knew his own value stemmed from others around him and how they viewed his miserable existence. Perhaps it was something stupid, something that needed to be fixed and mended at the soonest time possible, but perhaps it was just what he had become.
“I’m sorry I was not here when the murders took place. Your family deserved freedom and life, not this-.. This dreadful demise. I’m sorry,” Giyuu had said, after the wind had threatened to howl and the snow steadily fell. The gloomy clouds up above had been nothing in comparison to the look of grief on that child's face. The boy had looked at him, red eyes suddenly a lot more pained. Guilt had streamed down the slayer’s face in a mixture of twitches, “You-.. You couldn’t have… Known.”
“Kamado-San, you mustn’t let this stop you. Please. Keep going, don’t stop in the name of death. Keep living,” The Kinoe had urged, hoping that his voice wasn’t as weak as it had sounded within his own ears. He was not good at comforting others, and he knew it. But if there was something he could hope for, it was that the people around him weren’t ill and got to live long lives.
Keep fighting, keep living, keep breathing. Just stay alive, that was all he wanted this child to do. No one needed to lose their family at a young age, or any age at all. A person’s life was precious, something untamable and unexpandable. He knew that lesson better than anyone else, just maybe. And maybe that was why he had looked at Kamado with something like worry rather than hate, and then at his sister who lay motionless; Asleep.
“Urokodaki-San will teach you, and you will save your sister through what you will learn. Please try.” Giyuu had whispered quietly, eyes hollow and gaze a mirrored reflection of one he had once been shown so many years ago. Someone with blue eyes just like him, cupping his face and telling him to keep living. The sounds of blood curdling screams, the shrieking of a tea-pot and the sounds of bones being crushed.
There were many things Giyuu could have said. There were many things he wished he could have done, too, but such a desire was considered futile. He had no chances of forgiving his own mistakes or taking back the things he had already done; And for that, he was stuck. He was stuck wasting away, rotting in shadows and breathing in the steam from teas his body was beginning to reject. He did not know how long he would survive if his body continued to deteriorate, but he also knew that he was a few months off on any trip to the afterlife.
That cloudy and early morning had been a sad one. The scent of blood, the scent of tears. Exhaustion had plagued him like an illness, holding him down and within a world where pain was all that remained. And yet he had not been in severe pain, not then, not quite. He had been several feet away from tumbling downhill, from choking on the thin and icy air of that mountain side.
Please try to live, try to exist and be okay and save others. Please try. That’s all I will ever ask of you. He had thought, as he stepped away from the boy and his sister. He had turned away, vanishing in a flurry of snow and what might’ve been called mist. His mind was lost within a graveyard, the scent of poppy-seed tea and wisteria making it hard to breathe.
All he would ever ask would be that someone were to stay alive, for he knew that he would not be able to. That was merely not possible for someone like him, not possible for someone as broken and unassisted like him. A wilting flower might’ve been a term to describe him, only if one saw him while clothes draped over a bony and decaying body.
He was wilting in his own right, perhaps he always will. Until he died, that was all he would ever be able to do. He would wilt for a long time, wilt and wilt and rot away until he was another part of the soil he claimed as his own. The ground would surely welcome him, for it was where so many people were already buried. He was not yet a demon ready to die, so he would not turn to ash like all the fairytales and horror stories described dying people to become.
— — —
Half:
The boy’s name is Tanjiro Kamado, and his sister’s name is Nezuko. I was unable to save their family, but I was able to save them. The girl is a demon, but she chose to protect him rather than devour what was before her. I worry I made the wrong decision, letting her live. But she did not kill him or I; She defended. Demons are mindless creatures— I know what they can do. I am mindless, too, so I understand.
He promised to save his sister. I don’t know how he will be able to do it, but I want him to. I hope he does, and I don’t hope for much anymore. My body has decreased too much for me to wish for anything at all— I know I will not get better after this. I lost my vantage point, and now I must ride out what little life I have left. I don’t think I will ever get to see those two siblings again, because I will be dead by then. I think the master knows I am blaming myself over this, but not of what. I don’t want to explain what I have done. I don’t think I can even remember the story properly, even though it only happened yesterday.
There is half of my life left, if anything at all. I cannot bring myself to move farther into the world anymore than I already have. If there is a place I cannot reach, anything past this is that. Oyakata-Sama told me I have done well, and that I should finally give in to the sweet call of what sleep may offer me. He knows I will not pass out, but he tells me to try.
I think that I will stay awake now. I will keep going, keep moving. I’ll keep up and stay a Kinoe until something finally hinders me, and my exhaustion drags me deep into the earth. That boy and his sister may not get to live at all, and although I have vowed to commit seppuku if she is to eat a human, I don’t think I will live long enough to slice my stomach open for that cause.
— — —
Giyuu became a Hashira shortly after vowing to die if that girl were to eat a human. He ran into Lower-Moon Six only a week later, and without any hesitation did he cut its nape. Blood had sprayed and so had the cut off scream of the demon, and so had the way all of Giyuu’s energy had disappeared and adrenaline had been all that remained.
Three Lower-Moons were killed by the same person, and it was all out of mindless contribution. A desire to do what he could, a desire to be a human that was normal and not a broken husk. He knew he would not sleep, would not close his eyes and would never be able to rest; For if his soul was cursed and haunted his life, then so were all of the dreams he wished to have.
Blood, gore, death and demise; All of that would be better than not sleeping at all. His lungs stuttered on his chest and he screwed his eyes shut to taste darkness, but not sleep. He opened his eyes to see a new dawn, to feel the heat of sunlight and the new day come to drag him out of the shadows within his head. Poppy-seed tea is what he now drowned in, letting it wash away the guilt and self-hate he had acquired over the years.
The child who became the Mist Hashira only a few days before Giyuu accepted the position as the Water Hashira, drank tea with him most days. Tokitou and him forgot most of their memories as quickly as they were made, but that was fine, for the twenty year old promised himself to journal everything his mind would permit him to. The two of them would sit on the porch right outside Giyuu’s room, carefully emptying several teapots worth of tea into their bodies.
Normally, it only took three cups before Tokitou would hum and say something about wanting to watch the clouds better, in the sunlight. Giyuu would finish his sixth cup, set it down and pour himself another, and then carefully get up on weak legs and offer one hand to the child beside him.
They would accept the offer and move down the steps of the porch until the sunlight coated both of their skins, and they’d sit there for hours until the effects of feeling so far away disappeared. Tokitou could not remember who they were before training to become someone so strong, and Giyuu could not remember what it was like to sleep and have a clear mind. The two of them were similar like that, sadly.
There was a girl; Her name came and went with the sound of birds. She had green eyes and pink hair, and was quick to respond in cheerful gibberish when nervous. Not even the darkest night could taint her with distrust, and the horrors of slaying demons had no effect on her beside the guilt of not saving those who died. She was a Hashira, and Giyuu had written down the fact that she liked talking to Kochou and another- A shorter slayer, one with a striped haori.
Giyuu’s mind was clouded, and his reactions were based solely on instinct, but he was still able to keep up. His joints ached and he could not get any words out most days, his voice lodged in his throat, but he tried. He poured himself tea and forced himself to keep moving, lungs burning as water spilled from his airways and flowed through his veins. Maybe Urokodaki would be proud of him if the man could see just how much his pupil was trying.
The master of the manor would share tea with him in any place Giyuu wanted, and they would both sit in silence. It was peaceful, really, the way his mind would come to a complete and total stop when he struggled to remember a person. But when he connected the dots, grasped the identity of the other, it was so relieving and liberating. The peacefulness of it all was something he was grateful for.
There were Hashira meetings, ones that Giyuu reluctantly chose to attend. The first one he had ever gone to was after someone’s celebration, after another Kinoe had become a pillar to the organization. If his memory was not lying to him, it had been someone by the name of Iguro. They had a snake, one that was white and nothing more than a thick piece of rope in his gaze; Red eyes and a red tongue that flickered out every few seconds to match.
There were nine of them, with the Serpent Hashira being the last one to join their ranks. Swords perched in their sheaths, crows watching from the branches of wisteria trees. Giyuu was there from the start, indirectly, and they all knew it. But he made no moves to say anything about it, for the dull look in his eyes and the pale color of his skin was enough. The way his hands trembled and he would sigh after long moments, eyebags so dark they were practically as black as the night sky that so many demons adored.
Sanemi Shinazugawa was the Wind Hashira, and Kyoujurou Rengoku was the Flame Hashira. If not for a man with painted nails and dual blades, those two would be considered the loudest. Gravel underfoot and the sun blazing high up above, Giyuu couldn’t help but try and take in those around him and memorize who they were. He was bound to forget, bound to have to scavenge through journals for bits and pieces of information on who they all were.
Sometimes he would sway in the wind, and Kochou would flutter down from the air like a butterfly would. He would hum in acknowledgement, all he could really give to the world, and she would comment idly about one thing or another. Sometimes Kanroji would chime in as they all waited, under sunlight. They all waited for the master, all waited for the chance to see what else they could do and what was needed of them. Once or twice had Giyuu been unable to say anything at all, eyes betraying how tired he truly was.
No one mentioned it, and maybe that was a small mercy in the raven’s life. Or perhaps it was simply obvious that his health was not something he wished to dwell on, not when it would not get better. Deprived of sleep and most security, Giyuu was quick to dive headfirst into the adrenaline rush of a battle as long as it did not include going up against a human. Pop a pill, place it on his tongue- Maybe that would soothe his raging soul that craved sleep and redemption.
No one mentioned how he was first to arrive and normally the first to go, and no one mentioned how he could go into a daze out of nowhere. Maybe it was written on his face, the fact that he was dying as he stood there and breathed alongside the strongest people alive. They all wanted to live, no matter how shrouded that desire was. It was a human thing, an entity’s thing. Something to fling to as someone spent their days walking and traveling through time and space.
At one point, early on when Giyuu first joined the ranks, Shinazugawa had looked at him with guarded purple eyes, and then had commented on how Giyuu looked like a corpse. It had been an odd thing, really, for the air went tense and silent and fluctuated like a dying fish. The Water Hashira had not been offended, no, he had blinked slowly and then tilted his head in question- Almost in agreement. And then he had laughed, a hoarse and exhausted thing, “I’m sure I do.”
Kochou had chided them both, not a moment later, for being deplorable so early in the morning. But that had been fine, because the day had been warm and did not curse him with any further discomfort than it already had. The dawn had startled against his skin, and that was good enough for him. A new day, a new timespan of energy used.
Most meetings were like that, now, a routine Giyuu had grown familiar with. The sun burned shapes into his skin and warmed up his cold hands, and he would hum along to whatever someone said. Tokitou would point out the clouds sometimes, and he would stare thoughtfully at them. Uzui and Rengoku would both talk loudly, simultaneously with one another like hurtling balls of heat. They were the most bright, the most booming.
Shinazugawa called him an odd fucker, always sending glares in his direction; But none were of any real anger. Sometimes Iguro would make a comment, too, and Kanroji was quick to dispel non-existent tension that may arise. The tallest one, if not the strongest Hashira there was, murmured prayers and wise words into the morning or evening air. The Stone Hashira, he was the calmest and most rippleless out of them all.
The most recent meeting was similar, starting off like it always did. The wind had caressed his cold skin, and his lungs had ached, and his hands had shook. But all of that was fine, for it was the normal occurrence. He had been able to taste poppy-seed and green tea that morning, as well as the early streaks of dawn. He supposed anyone who was up earliest, or anyone who could not fall asleep, would taste the same thing he did.
“Tomioka-San!” Kanroji had greeted him, smiling brightly. She was the Love Hashira, and she glowed like the sun high up in the sky during the loveliest time of the spring. She treated him nicely, even though he already attended meetings. He was rarely even present, instead choosing to busy himself with meaningless work and hours spent dedicated to recording the memories that were yet to slip past his fingers.
The seventeen year old had waved at him, coming to a halt among the courtyard. She had been the first to arrive if one didn’t count the Water Hashira’s presence, and so a conversation was struck up between the two of them. They were not at the end of their lives, although he was relatively certain the Hashira around him were aware that he would not live for long. His demise was bound to approach, and when it did, he was sure that someone would grieve other than his own ghost. “I haven’t seen you in months! You weren’t at the last meeting!”
“Ah, my sincerest apologies. I’m alright now, though, so I should be able to attend the next ones,” He had replied, offering a small bow of his head. It had been the friendliest thing he could do, the friendliest thing he could offer. He had been quiet that day. He still was, technically. He was very quiet nowadays, his mind distant and his head spilling like a bowl that was overflowing. That was just how he had formed over time, now, slowly worsening.
Giyuu was quiet. Perhaps he had always been quiet, listening to the steady sound of rain or the breaths that spilled past his own lips; Only barely audible in the night as he waited for a mission to be given to him.
“Eh, you really should rest more!” She had fretted, and if Giyuu hadn’t been so tired that day, perhaps he would have hummed a small laugh and offered her a small smile. Alas, that was not the case, and it had happened a month ago anyway- He couldn’t change what he had already responded with. Kanroji was a good person, though, always kind and cheerful. She saw the good within people before she saw the bad.
“Yes,” Giyuu had agreed, faintly. His eyes had slowly slipped away from the other Hashira, moving back to the afternoon sky and the glowing sphere that stood out among the gloomy and raging clouds. The rain had continued to fall, splattering across his face and hair, but he hadn’t particularly minded. It had felt soothing in comparison to a hot bath or the constant nagging thoughts that would whisper vile things into his ears. It hadn’t been real, but he hadn’t been able to tell the difference anymore. When he had closed his eyes and opened them again, the storm had disappeared, gone and nonexistent. “I probably do.”
And he did. He needed rest far more than he needed to kill demons, for he would not be able to do anything if he were to die. But death was easier to meet than to come across a demon who would not lunge and bite at his skin. Tear, tear, tear, His mind would chant, whispering in the hollows. It’s voice would break him out of any haze he was in, and exhaustion would slowly fade off into a dull throb rather than the blinding pain of just not being alive.
— — —
It continued onwards without fail, and his pain only continued to grow. It was bad luck, truly, for his suffering was yet to end and he had no courage to ask someone to put him out of his misery. But his misery would have to stay present in this world, just for a bit longer, because he was yet to meet the boy again and he knew better than to think he could abandon the promise he made.
So he let himself lose all stability, slowly falling apart like a flower losing all of its colorful petals. The master had drank tea with him before everything went to hell, telling him he had done a wonderful job as a child, and a wonderful job as a Hashira. “You did well, my child. Rest now, for this life has not treated you well, and you shall be given something far better in another world. Rest now.”
Giyuu wished he could rest like the master told him to. But he couldn’t find a way to lay his head down peacefully, and couldn’t find a way to shut his eyes permanently without seeing his own pitiful reflection through the black curtains of his future demise. He was without any idea on what to do, and anyone who looked at him was bound to know it.
Before his mind deplenished entirely, he had sat down on the porch without his sword and with his hair down. He had let the sunlight warm his cold skin and paint redness over his face and knuckles, had let his mind wander as a child with hair longer than his sat down beside him. Tokitou had sat with him, quiet and rippleless like a morning pond that had yet to be given any food for the koi-fish inside. The Mist Hashira had looked at him with hazy eyes, pointing to the dark bags under his eyes, “Is this your last day here?”
The words, last day here, could mean many things. Giyuu’s last day on earth as a living human was approaching him quickly, but his last day at the master’s manor had already come upon him. If Oyakata could convince him to stay, the man would have already done so with a reassuring voice. But the leader of the Corps knew that Giyuu would not make it very far if he stayed, and so with a kind smile and blind eyes, he had looked at the Water Hashira and told him to rest. He had told him to rest where the butterflies landed on the most beautiful flowers, and where water would flow as peacefully as a gentle breeze in the morning light.
“Yes, it is,” Giyuu had whispered, and he had cast a small smile at the child. It had been very tiny, almost non-existent, but exhaustion had been scraping his energy out from underneath him since he was nine years old. The sun had painted heat across his face, and it had been so warm. Tokitou had looked at him oddly, the kid’s face contorted into something like faint dismay- But the slayer ahd still smiled, expression resigned. “I’ll rest a bit, and maybe-… Maybe I’ll see you later on.”
Tokitou had not said anything in return, instead staring at him as if he had possessed two heads. They had turned away, looking at the sky. Clouds floated against the pale blue canvas of the earth’s atmosphere. Giyuu had watched the clouds and drank poppy-seed tea with someone who was essentially a stranger to him, but a child who now would no longer have a friend to drink tea with. Guilt had gnawed at his bones, but his exhaustion had already bitten off his limbs.
I’m so tired. His mind would whisper, and all he would be able to do was close his eyes and pray that he would be allowed the things he had never been able to reach before. His arms were stretching, and he was desperate to have a piece of sleep- To just try it again, to feel it and have it under his head so he could be washed away from feeling half-dead.
“Tomioka-San?” A butterfly called his name, and from the infirmary bed he laid in, he knew that someone had entered his room. It had been a long time since he got any real sleep, but an even longer time since he had been able to flutter his eyelids and offer so much as a small smile to another person. Through hazy vision, he saw a woman with purple eyes that were calm and without any panic. “Mm?”
“Are you alright?” Kochou asked him, and there was real concern in her eyes. She pressed her hand to his head, and all he could do was blink lazily at her. She was a good person, strong and fast. She was intelligent and knew that he wasn’t okay, but she still chose to ask. It was to help enforce normality, to try her best when there was nothing else she could do. The medicine wasn’t working anymore, and the tea was barely making things more tolerable. He was dying, rotting away.
If he could have shaken his head, he would have. But he couldn’t move anymore, and he was too tired to do anything but sit still and wait for something or someone to talk to him. The master knew he would not return to his duties any longer, and the other Hashira were finally aware of what he suffered from. They knew not to press hard, and they knew that Giyuu now remained within the Insect Hashira’s manor.
Giyuu was careful, humming in acknowledgement most days and never trying to get up. His lungs would not work, and his mind was underwater. It was ironic, truly, for he was the Water Hashira, but could no longer handle what his gift could give him. He was a wilting flower, decaying and slowly drying up. There was nothing left to keep him tethered, and it hurt to think that his life wouldn’t last much longer.
But I’ll be able to sleep once I’m dead, The twenty year old would tell himself, hoping to all the gods that existed that it was true. He knew that no one would have to carry his weight once he passed, and perhaps that would be better than staying a mindless soul that smiled only briefly when someone offered to sit with him and talk about their day. Twenty years old and half-dead, on the border of the afterlife where nothing mattered but the amount of good he had in his heart, he wondered how long he would last.
“Would you like me to open a window?” She asked him, and her hand retracted from his head. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking a few times, and then glancing at the younger Hashira. She was seventeen. He wondered if he would be alive to wish her a happy birthday once she turned eighteen. He hoped he stopped thinking about such things.
“Crow..” He whispered, and his voice was a hoarse sounding thing. It took a moment before the other person replied, but her voice was as gentle as it had been a few moments ago. Kanzaburo crossed his mind.
“Alright. I’ll get your crow,” The Insect Hashira said, and her voice was as gentle as a flowing stream. Kochou had always been a good person and had always tried to help. Giyuu wanted to try and remember her for her own life rather than mistaking her for Kanae. A flower and a bug were not the same, no, but he knew that they went hand in hand. They were one in the same. Both stemmed from nature and the very birth of life. A new bloom meant a new dawn, and that meant a new everything.
Like a steady breeze, Giyuu let sunlight hit his face and tassel his hair as a window was opened quietly. Moments later, he heard a crow caw, and familiarity came forth to embrace him icily. Life would continue on until it wouldn’t, and once it stopped moving, so would he.
— — —
To Me:
I don’t know how long I have left, but it’s not long. I hear my heartbeat, and my hands are shaky. I wrote this for myself to read, far into the future. Many years from now, when I am an adult and not just a child who is clinging onto this dead best friend’s ghost. Giyuu, I know we are dying. We are gonna die. There’s nothing that can be done about it, but I need you to try for me. Try for— For Sabito.
I’m desperate for you to understand that we were never meant to live long, and if you are alive in the future like I assume we will be, then please beg yourself to forgive. Please, try. Forgive me for not dying with our mother and sister. Forgive me for not living better than this. I want us to succeed, I want to. This is for myself, in seven years time. Listen to a song, go dance in a festival and kill demons. Kill what destroyed you from the inside out, and live until you cannot live anymore.
I beg of you. I beg of us.
— — —
The sunlight was warm. It stretched across his lap and torso and face, made him heat up and wonder just how much energy he had left. Not much at all, not much at all, but he swallowed thickly and waited for something to change. The breeze was light, and the voices of people were dull and almost inaudible.
As the world continued to spin, Giyuu’s head did too. He was quiet in his final year, a soft person who smiled in his misery and offered a bony hand to brush away messy strands of hair from a child’s face. They had mahogany colored hair and warm red eyes, and called him a good person. He couldn’t vocalize anything, barely able to move his arms, but his exhaustion had no longer been cold. It had been warm, comfortingly so.
Let me say my goodbyes, and then I’ll go. Is what he would tell himself, even when no words would come out of his throat. His voice had disappeared just like his strength and dedication had. So he conjured up thoughts that were weakly strewn together, and let himself become attached to a vague state of reality. The smell of cherry blossoms and wisteria made his stay within the mansion peaceful.
He stared into the endless void of life, extending one hand with a shaking arm and offered nothing more than a small smile. He took in the world for what it remained as, letting people come and go. They talked to him, and he did his best to listen. He was yet to fully drift away, but he was sure to fall down into the depths of what some might never understand.
His journals remained in a box beside his bedside. Pots of ink and paint were in there, pages ripped from varying journals and notebooks left untouched and undisturbed. Notes he wrote for himself when he was younger, retelling of his day and everything he could write with a shaking hand. No one had to know what was written there, but if someone wanted to rummage through and read what he had managed to record since he was young, he would be okay with it.
A girl with long hair and a piece of bamboo in her mouth would rest her head on his bedside when it was night, and her pink eyes would stare hopefully at him. She didn’t talk, and neither did he. Giyuu knew her from somewhere, a child who once was covered in blood and white particles from a harsh winter. She was the younger sister to a boy who he had tried to console a few years ago.
Time passed quickly, but very slowly from where he now laid unmoving on a bed. The cotton sheets welcomed him into multiple attempts to fall asleep. Each attempt was fruitless, but at least it soothed the ache in his soul. It made him feel as if he were floating, and that was good enough for him. Sunlight would jostle him ‘awake’, and he would blink as dawn strikes him down through an open window.
Sometimes, people who he once knew would come by. He couldn’t quite place who they were, but he felt a softness in his mind when they popped by and at down by him,even if it was only for a few minutes. A booming figure, one with red and yellow hair. He smiled brightly and confidently, and sometimes Giyuu wondered if that man knew that the young adult on the bed was bound to die any month now.
That never stopped the Hashira from stopping by, nor did it make anyone else stop their consistent routine. Someone with white hair and scars came by every few days, strangely silent. His voice would be low and nothing more than a whisper of strength in the air, but that was fine. There was a child with long hair who drank tea and talked absently, only visiting every few weeks. They forgot who Giyuu was, but the two of them recognized one another. A distant memory, perhaps, and maybe one day the child would remember who Giyuu was before he passed.
He didn’t particularly know who he was, either. He knew that he had been running from his own issues since he was ten, chasing after dreams that did not belong to him. He knew that a man had taken him out from within a closet, and that his family had been killed by a demon. The former slayer knew that he had once been the Water Hashira of the corps, and had killed three Lower-Moons through devotion and mindless instinct.
His name was Giyuu Tomioka, and he had once been able to breathe in and think about the world and what it would become. He used to be able to kill demons. He had vowed to commit seppuku if that girl were to eat a human, for she was a demon- Yes, that was right. The girl with pink eyes and bamboo, she was a demon. If she were to eat a human, he would die to fulfill what honor he could redeem.
But she had yet to devour a single drop of human blood, instead choosing to hide in a box and appear in the manor at night while her brother and his comrades recovered. From what, Giyuu didn’t know. But he had no strength to ask, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to remember even if he did. Soon he would sleep.
The sun and moon interchanged in the sky, and some of the girls at the mansion lit candles for him when night came. The crow that shook and shivered came fluttering through the window at night, burrowing in the mess of his hair by the crook of his neck. Kanzaburo, His mind would supply him, and he would do his best to keep his eyes shut. He would focus on the wisteria and lavender incense in the air, or the distant scent of flowers from a vase on the windowsill.
It was quiet at night, and only a bit louder in the morning. Days passed by, and his stomach gnawed on nothing at all. But there was a freshness in the air and he felt somewhat okay, like he was truly drifting. His nerves no longer stung and the sounds of doors opening didn’t startle him. The birds chirping outside the window soothed him, and if Giyuu had begun to feel himself truly slip away one night, he never tried to stop it.
Morning came in a crash of beautiful colors, and through blurry vision he could see pinks and reds and honorable gold streaks through the sky, dappling the window and himself. He looked through the room, looked at the cotton sheets and the IV in his arm, and then at the vase of flowers. He looked around and watched candle-smoke drift, listening to the birds chirp and feel his heart slowly beat. It was steady. He was steady.
If he stared long enough, even as his eyes stung, he could see the shape of two people far off in the yards outside his window. In the sunlight were two fractions of light, frames of what might’ve been considered humans. He saw a boy wit( peach hair and a girl with a red kimono. Even as his mind started to black out, and he felt what little life he had grasped onto for so long turn into dust, he felt at peace. There was no panic, just gentle relief that washed over him like the swishing tide.
He did not get to say his goodbyes, not verbally and not through his gaze. The former slayer’s life had finally ended, slipping away and being cut short. He was going to go, with or without a proper farewell. But he had pages of written apologies and stories, pages of goodbyes stored inside of the box by his bedside. Giyuu had already said his goodbyes a long time ago. He hoped it would help someone feel better, once they learned he had passed.
When Giyuu closed his eyes after twelve years of struggling, he did not open them again. Sleep had come at last, and it was as gentle as a crow’s wings.