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They throw a party on one side of Oyakata sama’s mansion, nights before their raid on the Infinity Castle.
It had been Uzui’s idea, the man still brimming with gusto and all his usual flamboyance as he proposed a toast during their latest, possible last gathering as Hashira, after the Kakushi had been dismissed and the children ushered to sleep. Grim but confidently nonchalant still, a glimmer of bright energy in the wake of his retirement and a fiery smile long passed, as their last line of defense in the unlikely event that the mission fails. In other circumstances, none of them would have agreed to entertain. But as it were that night had been different, the air infused with the coiled anticipation of a definite end, and when even Himejima had muttered the ending verses of a mantra and reached for a cup -untouched by his side but the gesture telling-, the rest had followed suit.
Tentative murmurs soon evolve into raucous laughter and reminiscing, growing louder and more cheerful as the alcohol flows steadily. Giyuu remembers drinking past what he had imposed on himself, egged on by his fellow Hashira, soaking in the bantering and bickering of his fellow brethren as their voices ebb and flow. Everyone had been amicable towards him tonight, he could almost think it nice to belong. Another thing to be grateful for he supposes, to sharpen the resolve brewing in his heart.
Tranquility amidst finality. Like this, Giyuu thinks it would be alright, if walking this path of slaying demons means ending up a casualty in the final assault of a war that had raged for centuries too long. He has so much left to prove still, to walk in the footsteps of comrades current and passed. But if he could ensure his companions and the Kamado siblings survive this, then it was a duty and purpose he thinks he can see through without regrets, that the crumbling of one founding pillar in this organization would be worth it if it never needed to continue after the heralding of a new dawn.
Midway through another verbal spar of tipsy rambling he was made to bear witness to, Shinobu leaves, does not come back. It should not have mattered, after he realised he had been counting, but she had been seated beside him, had muttered about returning with water after draining her cup and laying a blanket over a dozing Tokito Muichiro, who was now curled up between the rice paper wall and a watchful Himejima. Closer inspection through the faint buzzing in his head sees flasks of water mixed with the bottles of sake that littered the room’s floor. The sight of it makes Giyuu furrow his brows.
He wonders if she had forgotten.
There are many things that could happen in the lull of night, restless energy thrumming as occupants strove to sleep off the hours until a mission which undertaking would see the highest stakes the corps had ever seen. Training, rechecking supplies, rerouting plans again and again until one could recite them in sleep. Alcohol too, a convenient excuse. It was none of his business what his mission partner chose to do outside these walls. She could have retired early, for all he knew, resting despite all her workaholic tendencies. Shinobu could have, he thinks, tries to let the thought convince him.
For all his successes in being able to read her, a dozen more failures stand in his way. Her presence was all butterfly wing beats and fleeting impermanence, but surely in the same way she had chosen to land close, stay and talk and take meals with him, the desire to perceive reaches back as strongly. In the end he tells himself it is not curiosity that brings him to follow her outside, slide the door close to muffled words of acknowledgement, trace the path that he thinks she took to the kitchens. He just has to be sure of where she is, even though he does not think he knows how to explain why.
Cicada chirps follow him as he treads the winding veranda, ebbs in echoes as the breeze blows and brings with it the sound of trickling water. Empty room, starwell, training room, Giyuu turns the corner, stumbling to an abrupt stop when he finds her sitting alone before his mind could think to catch up.
He must not have been silent enough, because Shinobu stiffens and turns to look his way, gaze shifting from the garden and unblocked view of the sky, but her shoulders ease somewhat at the sight of him, the guarded expression in her eyes fading into recognition and flickering curiosity. It brings him relief, even as he feels self conscious. He had not meant to startle her, to interrupt her musings.
"Tomioka san." There was a tray of sake by her side. "Are you leaving?"
People prepare in different ways, and though Giyuu thinks wallowing in heavy thoughts now that aren’t convictions was not prudent in the least, he does not want to intrude on her time alone. It would be hypocritical of him, anyways. He should leave her, he thinks, even if this only served to bolster the rumours of his reclusive nature, even as a part of him feels strangely reluctant to. He has tried prying enough. But he cannot tell her no.
In the end Giyuu shakes his head, tries in vain to reach for words of thoughts he cannot articulate.
"Oh.” Shinobu blinks, none the wiser to his inner brewings. “Then you can come sit by me." She gestures to the space beside her, pets the wood and smiles at him with cheeks that were too flushed to be from the cold.
He does not know what compels him to join her, to sit and dangle his legs off the veranda instead of declining with the excuses of an easy return. But the air was quiet, the wind a balm on his face, and the company that wanted to keep him… he didn’t mind.
“What are you thinking?” Shinobu asks, quiet as they settle to stare at the cloudless sky. Giyuu has to blink before the question can register, ponders for a moment if it was rhetorical. Even if not, he doesn’t know if he can give voice to intangible feelings he cannot quite comprehend.
“Nothing.” A pause, then- “Uzui makes very loud jokes.”
When she laughs softly, he cannot help the grimace that crosses his lips, pinpricks of indignation poking through in sluggish waves.
“My head’s still ringing.” An understatement. His eyelids felt heavy, heavier the longer he considers the prospect of closing his eyes.
“I thought you liked the company.” She teases.
I like yours better. He thinks, unbidden, before the weight of it can sink into his veins. It was getting harder to focus, to grasp and pluck thoughts into words fit for sentences. He can only trust Shinobu to be lenient on him, despite knowing how likely it was that she would quip back, threaten to trap him in performative back-and-forths that would no doubt leave him fumbling for footholds. Stranger still that he had grown to expect it in a manner that almost borders looking forward; the attentions of one that understood him well.
Case in point, the silence must have dragged on for far too long without him knowing, because a finger was suddenly poking into his cheek, snapping him from scattered thoughts to demand his attention.
“Tomioka san?” He sees the obvious twitch of amusement threaten to spill on her face, braces himself as it widens. The glint beneath her drowsy gaze alas, betrays her knowing. “Has the sake done you in? I didn’t think your tolerance was so low.”
“Don’t patronise me.”
It had been instinctual, to bear the barest traces of annoyance as he plucks the cup out of her hands, down the drink with his eyes holding hers. A burst of childish delight mixes with the smoothness of rice wine down his throat. Worth it, he thinks, when she breaks out of her shock to pinch his palm and snatch back her now empty cup.
“You are an awful drinking partner, Tomioka san.”
“Says you, Kochou.”
She hands him a new cup anyway, and Giyuu tries to contend with the lightness he feels as he takes the unspoken offer to refill their cups. They sit, quiet, content to sip and gaze unseeingly into the sky, drink some more as the night grows darker, hear the cry of a nightingale and the rustling of feathers as messenger crows roost until morning. It was almost enough to pretend that dawn brought nothing but more ordinary days, that this moment could last.
“If I were to die tomorrow, I don’t want it to be with any regrets.”
The words, uttered softly into the quiet of night, were not enough to be a whisper. But it was enough to jerk Giyuu from his dizzy stupor as he starts and veers to face her. He wasn’t aware they had a mission prior. Alarm curls its tendrils around him, cuts mutedly through the daze in his head as he parts his mouth wordlessly, swallows and tries again as he wills her to look at him and explain.
“Tomorrow?”
“The way the days blend, it could be tomorrow, for all we know.”
Giyuu doesn’t think that method of experiencing time now sounded quite right, if she even believed in those words herself. But nothing sounded quite right within the muffled heaviness of his head either, words stilted and slurred and blurry, nor was it like Shinobu to be so morbid. He hates how he caught her double entendre all the same. Just how much did they drink, to say things so unlike themselves?
(Excuses, excuses. He vaguely remembers just having that thought earlier. It had always been a logical possibility. But it was one thing to think it and another to say it outloud. To have her say it, seemingly full of conviction.)
Loose tongues, that was all it had to be. The work of alcohol sinking into veins. Superficial conversational starters. It must be. Otherwise, otherwise-
"Tomioka san, if I were to die tomorrow-”
“You won't-”
“Shush, let me finish. If I were to die tomorrow, I don’t want it to be with any regrets.”
When Shinobu turns to smile at him with an emotion he cannot place, impulse almost has him reaching out. Or did he? His fingers twitch, feeling heavy against wood, begets the pounding in his head. Strange, how it felt very much like he was moving through sludge. She must have noticed, because Shinobu quirks her mouth, looking very much as though she did not just confess something so insurmountably heavy.
“Tomioka san,” she says, meets his eyes with a clarity and seriousness so at odds with the dazed flush of her cheeks. “If I were to die tomorrow, I would want to have a chance to braid your hair before then.”
Silence, as Giyuu stares at her, speechless and taken aback, before Shinobu huffs and reaches for him. The minute hesitation before her fingers touch his hair is the only indication of uncertainty. They tremble, but do not stop, not when Giyuu himself doesn’t protest, too stunned in this turn of events his mind was still desperately trying to play catch up to.
She makes quick work of it - playing with his hair, petting and combing it with her fingers, shuffling closer with a gaze so focused he could barely make sense of the catch in his breath. Giyuu swallows, finds his mouth dry and tongue-tied as Shinobu braids loose curls down his cheeks and ruffles the dark strands, sweeps it back with a gentleness that has him holding back a shiver. Has it really been years since someone had touched him that gently without the pretense of necessity and dressing wounds? His own fingers skim and curl over the dragging sleeves of her haori, twitch as she leans in closer to tap his shoulder in a coaxing motion so that he would turn, hears the click and weight of something settling on the back of his ponytail before she finally relents.
A part of him desperately wants to believe this was a dream still when he pulls back enough to see her hair sway unbound, spilling across her shoulders in unruly waves. There was a smile on her face, somewhat amused and rueful, even as he raises his hand to touch the new weight, traces the shape of butterfly wings resting over his nape. In another lifetime, he had seen her get into fights and threaten to kill over this clip. Something dear and private that he should not have the privilege to touch, much less wear. Yet here he is now, an amalgamation sporting pieces of loved ones, deja vu awashed in waves.
Some part of him dulled under the alcohol shudders.
“I always thought they looked really soft. Now I know for sure they are also fluffy to the touch. It’s almost unfair, really.” Shinobu says, laughs with averted eyes when he does not answer. “Apologies, Tomioka san, I-”
He reaches for her wrist before she can retract.
“If I were to die tomorrow,” The words stumble from his mouth clumsily, catch in the back of his throat as she stiffens and looks at him. “I would want to know…”
Giyuu swallows, feels a heavy weight mounting his chest claw and pound. Like this, it could almost constitute pain. The thought had been budding, taking root and sprouting through the months with each subsequent suspicion and suspect. He shouldn’t intrude, even if he could all but confirm it now. Giyuu trusts Shinobu, respects the line of privacy that sways and swings between them like string, wants to keep any semblance of it even as the inevitability of what lies ahead draws near, even as he desperately wants to believe the ruddiness of her cheeks was more than just a momentary lapse of judgement, wishes otherwise through the confusion that leers in his head.
The butterfly clip hangs heavy down his hair.
“I want you to tell me about your secret. The one about the poison.” He would never have heard her breath hitch if he weren’t holding her. Giyuu brushes his outstretched hand over her jaw, cups her chin, fingers mapping the shape of her mouth with sluggish trembling through a blurry haze. It was a wonder Shinobu did not lash at him. “Won’t you tell me?”
Please tell me.
The scent of sake would have drowned the tinge of wisteria, but phantom dregs of the flowery scent stirs at him anyway. Giyuu swallows and tears himself away from the thin press of her lips, resisting the urge to lean closer as he catches her eyes. They flicker, shade of purple so much like those poisonous flowers as she stares back, conflicted and cloudy with emotions he cannot read. He waits anyway, feels the cold breeze sting his cheeks as the seconds pass and the tension arounds her wounds tight and relents.
“Kochou.” He says softly, not quite a beg or plead, swallows a noise when he feels her shiver and the pulse beneath his fingers skip.
Shinobu parts her mouth wordlessly, but at last she huffs and reaches to cradle his hand with both of hers, smiles up at him slowly with such a kind, resigned expression that was so at odds with the fierce flash of fire and determination he knows lies simmering below.
“You already know.”
Something in his heart breaks, aches and hurts and exacerbates as his head spins.
"You are cruel, Kochou." He says, because that was all he could do, even as he wishes she could fall back into her jabs and goads instead of looking so at peace with the path she had chosen.
What could he have done anyway besides acknowledge, when dissuading meant being a hypocrite, meant hurting and denying her existence and choice? Betrayal in its ultimate form, even as a quiet part of him screams that this was also betrayal to the people still living, to the children who look up to her as family, to him, for trusting her with his thoughts and vulnerabilities and feelings.
That someone he considered important to him would voluntarily contort and destroy themself in a bid to ensure victory, selfish enough to refuse the hope of living after, last resort or no.
“Do you want to die that badly?” Giyuu whispers as he laces their fingers together, knows the answer before he finishes the thought.
“...If I were to die tomorrow,” She says instead, smile wavering for the first time that night. “...I would want to know how it feels like to kiss someone.”
The softest catch of breath, a heartbeat of cicada chirps, the words barely register, alcohol dulling and sharpening senses and heat. Giyuu doesn’t remember who leaned in first -perhaps they both did, yearning and craving and wanting-, but then he was tracing the same path up her jaw with his fingers, noses brushing as they breathed each other in. Shinobu sighs as he tilts his head to touch her lips, drawing a hesitant brush, a peck, trembles and pushes back until at last, he slots his mouth over hers and pulls the taste of wine from her lips.
They fumble, push and pull and probe, gentle and explorative. Giyuu has never kissed anyone like this before, like one would a lover. He wonders if Shinobu would find this enough, think him enough, wishes she would. The thought of her still wanting after this makes the ache in him sour, fills him with indignance. He wants to satisfy her, kiss her so thoroughly she would never be discontented ever again.
When her fingers paw at his knee, it had been instinctive to reach for her waist to pull her closer, but then she was breaking the kiss, gasping as he attempts to give chase. Giyuu swallows, opening his eyes, makes a noise bordering a whine as he feels her plant a clumsy kiss on the corner of his mouth. His chest was pounding, face flushed as Shinobu leans into his touch with glazed eyes. This time it is her hands that cup his cheeks, breath heavy and lips trembling as she bridges the distance, tentative and assertive all at once.
“A-And you call me cruel,” He hears her struggle to say through their ragged breaths. “I think, I think we should stop.”
His only response is to kiss her harder.
“Tomioka san, the poison-” Mouths catch on soft seams, leads to the barest brush of tongue. The undeniable newness of how wet it was was enough to make them both flinch, break away.
“If I were to die tomorrow, it wouldn’t matter.” The tempered snort comes easy, sharp and loose. Giyuu fights the urge to lick his lips, abashed. He hoped he didn’t look as mussed as he felt. When Shinobu meets his gaze, flustered and red and heated, climbs into his lap to curl her fingers into his hair, he leans into her touch, tucks her own bangs behind her ear.
“You know it's all just in jest.” Fingers squeeze his hand as she speaks against his lips, brushes away his dismay with a wistful smile. “You aren’t allowed to die, Tomioka san. There are too many people counting on you.”
“Hypocrite… You are being unfair.”
Weren’t they all? Selfish and wanting and greedy through the throes of duty. Even himself, no matter what anyone thinks, fallible in his unwavering. His heart hurts, hurts more when he finds himself unable to muster any protest beneath a mountain of pent up emotions that were of his own making.
A kiss on his forehead draws him out of his reverie, and Giyuu blinks back the vestiges of bitter tears. Shinobu makes a soft distracted noise, presses another kiss on his cheek, his nose, smoothes the furrow between his brows. He does not realise how pliant he has become until his mouth folds against hers easily, butterflies in his stomach fluttering as her faint smile imprints on his skin.
"Ko-…no, Shinobu.”
“Hm?”
“If I die tomorrow,” He feels her pull back, would mourn the loss of her closeness if not for a sudden sheepish embarrassment. “I would want it to be after knowing what it's like for you to say my name.”
“...Oh, I didn't pique you to be someone so sentimental.”
Her mouth trembles, no bark nor bite. Giyuu squeezes her waist anyways, feels another wave of heat rock through him when Shinobu shudders and tugs at his hair.
“Even like this you are still such a brute, Giyuu.”
“I would be less if you didn’t tease so much.” He says, but there was a smile on his face now, faint and awkward but nonetheless there as his heart pounds, aching and fond. “I like it when you say my name, Shinobu.”
The blooming heat on her cheeks before he captures her lips tasted sweet on his tongue.
“You are, surprisingly sappy.” She laughs breathlessly between the fumbling of their mouths. “It’s kind of cute.”
Another whine escapes his throat involuntarily when she catches his bottom lip, sucks it. Giyuu can’t help it; he flusters. Shinobu must know, because she hums, pulls back to speak. Her mistake; her give grants him the opportunity to lick into her mouth. When she shudders again and squeaks he kisses her harder, takes pleasure in the bubbling of her moans.
“So much for- for concentration breathing huh..? Tomi-, Giyuu… Your breathing’s all messed up… To think the water pillar can be reduced to this from just-"
“You talk too much.” He swallows her giggle with another kiss and press of tongue before she can notice the reddening of his ears.
He doesn’t know how long they sit there for, kissing and sharing a building heat until control over concentration breathing is the furthest thing from their minds, until all they can do is gasp and plead with the silent angling of their heads over jaws and mouth, fingers prodding loose the buttons of uniforms as they struggle for grip, haoris and tangled hair askew. Giyuu would wonder, but time is a blur, too slow and too fast and inconsequential to the matter of his feelings. It didn’t help that their kisses only turn sloppier the longer they refuse to separate, tinged with a desperation they both clung to. His calves dig into the back of her thighs, pushing her closer until she was sprawling on his lap. When Shinobu bites his lip in retaliation, his hand over her waist digs fingers into skin and kneads until she cries out from the sensitivity.
When at last she can take no more, breath coming in stuttering gasps, he gentles, breaks away with a pant. His skin tingles with warmth, shakes with a thrumming as he looks at her sway and slump into his hold. Eyes shiny with unshed tears as she presses shaking fingers to her kiss-swollen mouth, she was the picture of ravished. He has little doubt he looked the same.
If she would allow it, he wants to kiss her again. Through his dizzy stupor, until they could not tell where one began and the other ended in this embrace.
“What a terribly dazed look you have.” Shinobu whispers, reaches for him as fingers press into the unbuttoned collar of his uniform, crawl up to hook over his neck. He catches her easily, palm to palm, entwines their hands together in a gesture so grounding she cannot help but grin.
“The moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?”
He can see it, reflecting through the dazed allure of her eyes. Round and luminous and full. He knows it is both a question and not.
“Mmh.” He brings their foreheads together, warmth overflowing, finds the smile curling over his mouth come easily. “It is.”
When Shinobu leans up to kiss him, it is but a gentle brush of lips, like the answer of a softly kept secret.
“Giyuu.” She smiles, lidded eyes wanting and fond. “Take me to bed.”
The night melts, burns bright and lucid like that of an ephemeral dream, swallowed by the cries of cicada song. A moment in infinity. Come morning they might not remember, waking in a tangle, sake cups half finished and the memories of night a forgotten blur as they step out of the dream. It might have been better that way, perhaps, inevitability marching on. In the end, this was but a night’s repose from their resolve.
But for now the moment holds, lets them take. Even if this was all they would have.
Time passes, the cicadas quieten, dim further as the stars in the sky flicker out one by one.
In the distance, a lark begins to call.
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