Chapter Text
The sound of the whistle was a sharp blade through the humid afternoon air. Giyuu Tomioka stood at the edge of the penalty box, his lungs burning with a familiar, rhythmic heat. Beside him, Sabito adjusted his position, his presence a constant that Giyuu still found himself reaching for in the quiet hours of the night, just to make sure he was real.
In this life, the tragedy of the mountain was nothing more than a fever dream. Sabito hadn't died at thirteen, cold and alone while Giyuu slept in a haze of fever. He had lived. He had grown up alongside Giyuu, taller and broader, his laugh becoming the soundtrack to Giyuu’s adolescence. Sabito was the perfect partner—the man who knew exactly when Giyuu needed a supportive hand on his shoulder or a quiet walk home.
"Don't let them pull the line too far back," Sabito said, his voice low and commanding. He caught Giyuu’s eye and offered a quick, confident wink. "We've got this, Giyuu."
Giyuu nodded, a small, genuine tug at the corner of his mouth. He was happy. He was supposed to be happy. He had his best friend, the person he had been granted a second chance with, and a life where swords were replaced by soccer cleats and blood by sweat.
Then, the opposing side’s striker stepped into the light.
Sanemi Shinazugawa was a blur of silver and aggression. In Giyuu’s fragmented memories of the Corps, the Wind Hashira was a man composed of scars and spite. Giyuu remembered the way Sanemi had looked at him with such visceral loathing, the way their blades had clashed in training sessions that felt more like brawls. He remembered being the outcast, the one Sanemi couldn't stand to breathe the same air as. In those memories, they were rivals—enemies, almost—who only found common ground in the shared duty of killing demons.
But the man on the field today was unrecognizable.
Sanemi’s face was smooth, his skin clear of the jagged marks that had once told a story of a lifetime of trauma. He wasn't snarling; he was shouting a joke to the winger, his eyes bright with a competitive but healthy fire. He looked light. He looked like a man who had never known the weight of a Nichirin blade or the loss of a sibling.
As the ball was played into the box, Sanemi moved with a ferocity that made Giyuu’s pulse spike. They collided—shoulder to shoulder, a clash of physical will. For a split second, Giyuu felt a strange, inexplicable pull in his chest, a sensation that made no sense given the hostility he remembered from their past.
He didn't understand it. He looked at Sanemi and saw the man who had tried to bait him into fights, then remembered being the outcast. Yet, seeing him like this—unburdened and smiling—left Giyuu feeling adrift.
"Tomioka! Pay attention!" Sanemi barked as they untangled. It wasn't the roar of a Hashira, but the sharp, constructive criticism of a teammate. He reached out, briefly steadying Giyuu with a hand on his arm before letting go. "You're usually better than that. Don't go soft on me now."
"I'm not," Giyuu replied, his voice calm and polite. "I just timed the jump wrong. It won't happen again, Shinazugawa."
Sanemi gave a short, cocky huff of laughter, his eyes gleaming with playfulness. "Good. I'd hate to score on you when you're not even trying. It ruins the fun." He jogged away, giving a friendly wave over his shoulder.
To Sanemi, Giyuu was a friend—a reliable, if somewhat quiet, part of his social circle since freshman year. There was no war between them here.
Practice ended shortly after. As the players migrated toward the benches, Giyuu felt Sabito’s arm drape around his neck.
"You okay? You looked a million miles away out there," Sabito said, his voice warm as he steered Giyuu toward their gear. He grabbed a towel, scrubbing at his own damp, peach-colored hair before checking Giyuu’s face. "Seriously, Giyuu. If you're coming down with something, we should skip the library tonight."
"I'm fine," Giyuu replied, offering a small, reassuring smile. "I just need to finish that ethics paper. It's due on Thursday."
"Tell me about it. I've still got forty pages of reading for Sociology," Sabito groaned, but his eyes lit up when he saw Sanemi walking toward them. "Hey, Sanemi! Hell of a shot in the second half. Almost had us."
Sanemi grinned, bumping fists with Sabito and then nodding toward Giyuu. The ease between them was jarring. In this world, they shared notes and complained about the coach over coffee.
"Almost doesn't count for points, Sabito," Sanemi said. He turned his attention back to Giyuu, his expression neutral but friendly. "You had some good blocks today, Tomioka. That last slide was clean."
"Thanks," Giyuu said, his tone polite. "Your speed is getting harder to track."
"Tell me something I don't know," Sanemi joked.
"We’re heading to the dining hall after we shower," Sabito added, a mischief-filled glint entering his eyes. "You coming, Sanemi? Or are you 'busy' again? I think I saw Kanae heading toward the science building a few minutes ago."
Giyuu felt a press on his temple from Sabito giving him a kiss. He blushed.
Sanemi watched the display with an easy grin, his posture relaxed.
"Gross," he laughed, shaking his head. "You two are cute and all, but spare me the PDA on the pitch, yeah? I’ve got enough to deal with." His face took on a faint trace of pink at the mention of the science building. "I'm helping her with a lab prep. It’s not a big deal."
"Right, right. Lab prep," Sabito teased, nudging Giyuu with his elbow. "Hey Giyuu, did you hear that? Shinazugawa’s becoming a regular scientist lately. Funny how it’s always for the same lab partner."
"Lay off, Sabito," Sanemi muttered, though there was no heat in his voice—only the flustered embarrassment of someone whose secret was poorly kept. He shifted his bag higher on his shoulder. "I've gotta run. Lab closes in twenty minutes."
"Good luck with the... biology," Sabito called out as Sanemi hurried off.
"See you, Shinazugawa," Giyuu added, his voice steady.
Once Sanemi was out of earshot, Sabito’s playful demeanor softened into something deeply intimate. They had been together for three years now, reuniting in the chaos of their freshman year when the first sparks of recognition had turned into a full-fledged awakening of their bond. It had been the happiest three years of Giyuu’s existence—a slow, steady healing process that only Sabito could provide.
Sabito reached out, cupping Giyuu’s cheek. His thumb brushed over Giyuu’s skin, a silent promise of presence. "You're doing it again," he whispered. "Thinking about the things I can't remember."
Giyuu leaned into the touch, his heart swelling. "I'm just glad you're here."
Sabito smiled—the bright, beautiful smile that Giyuu had once thought lost to the snow. He leaned in, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to Giyuu’s lips. It tasted of salt and summer, a grounding reminder of the now. When they pulled apart, Sabito didn't let go, his forehead resting against Giyuu’s.
"I remember the mountain," Sabito murmured. "I remember the training and our promise. But I know there's more. I see it in your eyes when you look at the others."
Giyuu felt a twinge of sadness. Because Sabito had died at thirteen in that past life, his memories stopped there. He didn't know about Giyuu’s journey to becoming the Water Hashira. He didn't know about the quiet, lonely years or the final, bloody battle. He only knew the others because they had reconnected here, at the university.
Most of them belonged to The Nine Pillars, a co-ed fraternity that functioned more like a sprawling, chaotic family than a traditional Greek organization. Tengen Uzui was the flamboyant president, and Kyojuro Rengoku was his second-in-command. Shinobu, Kanae, and Mitsuri were all core members, their presence turning the frat house into a sanctuary of sorts.
Giyuu and Sabito weren't members—Giyuu was far too quiet for the constant social barrage, and Sabito preferred to keep his schedule open for Giyuu—but they were "honorary regulars." They were at the house so often that half the members forgot they didn't actually pay dues.
They had all found their way back. All of them had "awakened" in their own time, sharing the secret weight of a life once lived.
Except for Sanemi.
The following day, Giyuu found himself off-campus at a small ramen shop tucked away in an alleyway. Across from him sat Tengen, looking as vibrant as ever in a neon-accented jacket, though his eyes held a clarity that usually only surfaced when they were away from the crowd.
Tengen was different from the others. He and Giyuu were the only two who had actually walked through the ashes of the post-war era. Tengen had retired early, but he had lived through the aftermath. To Giyuu, Tengen was the only person who understood the crushing silence that followed the end of the demons.
"You're picking at your noodles, Tomioka. Not very flashy of you," Tengen said, resting his chin on his hand. He tilted his head, studying Giyuu's downcast face. "What’s up? You’ve been staring at that broth like it holds the secrets of the universe. Or is Sabito giving you a hard time about your lack of vibrancy again?"
"Sabito is fine," Giyuu said, finally taking a bite. "It's Shinazugawa."
Tengen’s expression didn't change, but his fingers tapped a rhythmic beat against the table. "The Wind Hashira? What about him? He seems to be doing well for himself. Soccer star, getting cozy with the former Flower Hashira—now the smartest girl in the Bio department. Living the dream, isn't he?"
"He doesn't remember," Giyuu said quietly. "Everyone else does. Even Obanai and Mitsuri found each other. But he looks at me like I'm just a teammate." He looked up, his blue eyes searching Tengen's. "It's just... why didn't Shinazugawa keep in touch with me? Either of us? He was there after the war. Surely, we all kept in touch. Right?"
Giyuu looked down at his bowl again. He remembered the relief of seeing Sanemi alive, however battered. But after that day? The memories were a vast, unsettling void. He knew they had both survived the war, yet he couldn't recall a single conversation they had shared in the four years that followed.
"Oh, he was around," Tengen offered up casually, his eyes drifting to a spot on the wall behind Giyuu.
"But?" Giyuu pressed, sensing the omission.
"Tomioka, why do you wanna keep digging into the past?" Tengen asked. His voice was lighter than usual, almost forced. "You remembered everything you wanted, right? Why would you want him to remember that version of himself? He was a walking open wound, Tomioka. Let him be happy."
Giyuu frowned. There was a strange edge to Tengen’s tone, a hesitation in the way he avoided Giyuu's gaze. As Giyuu's memories of the post-war era flickered, he felt a nagging sensation that he was missing something. He knew Tengen had visited him after the battle. He knew they had spoken. But the gaps in his own memory seemed to align perfectly with the moments Tengen stopped talking.
"You're hiding something," Giyuu said, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. "We both made it through. I remember the last meeting, but I don't remember the four years after. You do."
Tengen laughed, a boisterous, practiced sound that didn't reach his eyes. "Hiding something? Me? I'm the most flamboyant man on this campus, Tomioka. I don't do hidden. Now eat your ramen before it gets cold. We've got that mixer at the house tonight, and I need you looking at least fifty percent less miserable than usual."
Giyuu went back to his food, but the feeling didn't leave him. Tengen knew how the story ended for the survivors. And for some reason, he wasn't telling Giyuu the whole truth about why Sanemi was the only one who hadn't awakened.
As Giyuu and Sabito left the library later that evening, they ran into a familiar trio near the campus fountain. Shinobu and Mitsuri were walking alongside Kanae, the air around them filled with the high-pitched excitement that usually preceded a social event.
"Giyuu! Sabito!" Mitsuri squealed, waving them over with both hands. "You're both coming to the mixer at the house tonight, right? It’s going to be so much fun!"
"We'll be there," Sabito promised, flashing his easy, confident smile. "Tengen already threatened Giyuu's life if he tried to hide in the apartment.”
Shinobu chuckled, adjusting her glasses. She looked entirely at ease, though Giyuu knew the razor-sharp mind that lived behind her pleasant expression. "Tengen does have a way with words. But really, it would be nice to have the whole group together."
Mitsuri suddenly leaned in, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she nudged Kanae. "And Kanae is bringing a very special guest, aren't you? Tell them who you invited as your date!"
Kanae’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she laughed sweetly, trying to wave off Mitsuri's enthusiasm. "Oh, it's not like that, Mitsuri. I just thought he might enjoy a break from his studies."
"She invited Shinazugawa!" Mitsuri announced anyway, practically vibrating with excitement. "And he actually said yes! Can you believe it? The most stubborn striker on the soccer team, attending a mixer!"
Shinobu didn't look surprised at all. She glanced at Giyuu with a knowing tilt of her head. "Shinazugawa has been spending quite a bit of time 'studying' lately. It was only a matter of time before Kanae wore him down. She has a way of making people do exactly what she wants, after all."
Kanae ducked her head, her smile shy but genuine. Giyuu noticed the way her expression softened when Sanemi's name was mentioned—a warmth that went deeper than just a college crush.
"I just think he needs to socialize more," Kanae said softly. "He works hard but shuts himself in his apartment." She caught Giyuu's eye, and for a moment, her gaze became more intense, carrying the weight of a woman who remembered a life where Sanemi had lost everything.
Kanae had awakened nearly a year ago, and while she kept her memories tucked away behind a gentle smile, Giyuu knew she saw the same echoes of the past he did.
"I'm hopeful," she added, her voice dropping to a whisper intended only for Giyuu and the other awakened ones. "He hasn't remembered yet. But maybe... maybe he will one day. Until then, he deserves to just be Sanemi."
Giyuu felt a small, quiet laugh escape him. In this life, Kanae and Giyuu had become decent friends through their shared proximity to Shinobu and the others.
Seeing her so hopeful, and seeing Sanemi actually being "worn down" by someone's kindness rather than his own anger, was a sight Giyuu found himself genuinely supporting.
"You should invite him," Giyuu said softly, looking at Kanae. "He's... a good person. Even if he’s a bit blunt."
"See? Even Giyuu agrees!" Mitsuri chirped.
"Good luck, Kanae," Sabito added, stepping closer to Giyuu and reaching for his hand. "We'll see you all there. Hopefully, Shinazugawa doesn't spend the whole night hovering by the snack table."
"We’ll make sure he stays entertained," Kanae promised, her eyes bright with gratitude.
As they walked away, Giyuu felt Sabito’s fingers intertwine with his. It was a normal university life—dates, mixers, and the comfortable banter of friends. Giyuu looked forward to the evening, glad for the distraction and curious to see how Sanemi would navigate a party with Kanae. For now, the past was just a series of disconnected images, and Giyuu was content to let the night unfold as it was meant to.
Sanemi kicked his shoes off the moment he stepped into the apartment. The place was quiet, smelling of citrus cleaner and Masachika’s burnt coffee. His roommate, Masachika Kumeno, was likely at the library or out for a run, leaving Sanemi with a rare moment of solitude.
He tossed his keys onto the wooden table in the small dining nook and sat down, his phone buzzing almost immediately against the surface. He picked it up, expecting a message from Uzui about the mixer, but saw a name that made the tension in his shoulders soften just a fraction: Genya.
He swiped to answer. "Hey. Everything okay?"
"Yeah, Nemi. Everything's fine," Genya’s voice came through, sounding a little tired but relieved. "I just wanted to update you. Mom's fever broke this morning. The doctor says the new meds are working. She’s... she’s doing much better. She even asked if you were eating enough."
Sanemi felt a heavy weight lift off his chest, replaced by a dull, familiar ache. Their mother had been sickly for as long as he could remember in this life, a constant source of worry that he and Genya shouldered together.
"Good. That's good," Sanemi said, his voice dropping into a low, gruff register. "Tell her to stop worrying about me and focus on getting her strength back. I'll send some more money home on Friday after I get my tutoring check."
"You don't have to do that every week, Nemi. I'm working the shifts at the shop—"
"I said I'd send it, Genya. Just take it." Sanemi leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut. "I've gotta go. Tell Mom to get some rest, and you. Don’t forget to study.”
"Okay. Love you, Nemi."
"Yeah. You too."
Sanemi hung up and set the phone face down on the table. He didn't move for a long time. His right hand, resting on the dark wood, began to move of its own accord. It was a rhythmic, soothing habit he’d had for as long as he could remember—tracing patterns on flat surfaces when his mind was heavy or his anxiety peaked.
To an observer, it looked like aimless, jagged scratching. His index finger dragged across the grain, forming intricate, looping strokes that seemed nonsensical. He wasn't even looking at his hand; his gaze was fixed on the window, but his finger moved automatically.
Under his fingertips, the invisible ink of his muscle memory traced out two distinct sequences. The first was a series of sharp, aggressive angles, followed by a second set of steady, flowing strokes. He didn't know what they were—only that the order never changed, and the rhythm of them felt as vital as his own pulse.
Sanemi had a lot on his plate—was on a full-ride scholarship for academics and for athletics. a top student who took pride in his literacy and his ability to tutor others. He had rent to pay, a mother to worry about, and a future to build with his own two hands. He hadn't come from money, scraping and tutoring his way through school, and he found a deep, quiet satisfaction in the clarity of the present.
Even though it’s silly, Sanemi just knew that tracing these shapes calmed him down.
A second buzz from his phone broke the trance. This time, it was a message from Kanae.
Kanae (5:42 PM): Don't forget, the theme is semi-formal! Please try to dress up a little, Sanemi. No soccer jerseys allowed! See you soon. 🌸
Sanemi looked at the screen, then back at the empty tabletop where he’d just been "doodling." He shook his head, clearing the strange, melancholic fog that had settled over him.
Sanemi (5:45 PM): Fine. Any specific color you want me to wear? Or am I just guessing?
Kanae (5:46 PM): Oh! How thoughtful of you, Sanemi! I’m wearing a deep purple dress tonight. Maybe something that matches? 💜
The sound of the front door opening signaled Masachika’s return. Sanemi looked up as his roommate—and effectively the older brother he leaned on for everything from academic advice to rent math—shuffled in, looking somewhat winded from a jog.
"Hey, Masachika," Sanemi called out, already heading toward his closet. "Can I borrow your iron? Mine’s acting like it's gonna explode."
Masachika stopped in the doorway, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel. He looked at Sanemi, then at the charcoal button-down Sanemi was holding up. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face.
"An iron? You? Sanemi, you haven't ironed a shirt since the athletic banquet freshman year," Masachika teased, his tone warm and brotherly. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Let me guess. A 'lab prep' with a certain biology major?"
"Shut up," Sanemi muttered, though he didn't look away. "Kanae sent a text about a theme. It's a mixer at the Pillar house. I don't want to look like a slob."
"A mixer! Wow, she’s really working miracles on you," Masachika laughed, pushing off the wall to go grab the iron from the hallway closet. He handed it over, but didn't let go of the handle immediately, forcing Sanemi to meet his eyes. "Seriously, Nemi. You look good. Just don't overthink it. She likes the 'slob' version of you just fine."
"I'm not overthinking it," Sanemi grumbled, finally yanking the iron away. "And she doesn't like me like that. We're just... it's just a mixer."
"Right. And I'm the next prime minister," Masachika joked, patting Sanemi’s shoulder. "Go on. Make sure you don't burn a hole in that shirt. It’s the only decent one you own."
Sanemi didn't even look back as he grabbed a decorative pillow from the armchair and chucked it with pinpoint accuracy. It smacked Masachika right in the chest, prompting a loud, wheezing laugh from the older man as he dodged a second swipe and hurried down the hall toward the shower.
"Don't forget to do the collar!" Masachika shouted over his shoulder before disappearing.
Sanemi rolled his eyes, but a small, reluctant tug of a smile lingered on his lips. Once the sound of the shower started down the hall, Sanemi began his own preparations. He pulled his charcoal grey button-down and black slacks from the back of the closet, setting them on the bed with a precision that betrayed his nerves.
As soon as the water stopped and Masachika emerged, steam trailing behind him, Sanemi slipped into the bathroom.
The heat of the shower was supposed to be relaxing, but as the water hit his back, Sanemi felt the familiar tightening in his chest. The silence of the bathroom was too loud, leaving him alone with the thoughts he usually managed to outrun on the soccer field. His hands, usually so steady, felt restless against the tile. He leaned his forehead against the cool porcelain, the rhythmic drum of the water echoing the frantic pace of his heart.
Why was he so worked up over a damn mixer? He’d known Kanae for years. He’d seen the Pillars a thousand times. But tonight felt different—heavy, in a way he couldn't explain. He scrubbed his skin until it was red, his fingers starting to trace those comforting, jagged shapes onto the wet tile as he tried to wash away the sudden, inexplicable sense of dread that always seemed to linger just beneath his skin when he stopped moving for too long.
Sanemi forced himself out of the shower, drying off quickly and avoiding his own reflection in the fogged-up mirror. He dressed with practiced movements, the charcoal shirt feeling foreign and stiff against his skin. It wasn't purple, but it was dark enough to look intentional next to her. He set up the ironing board in the small living space, the rhythmic hiss of the steam a grounding contrast to the fluttering nervous energy he refused to acknowledge.
He rounded the corner later that evening, and the Nine Pillars house came into view, glowing with string lights and teeming with people. But before he could reach the door, a massive hand clapped down on his shoulder.
"Shinazugawa! My man!" Tengen Uzui boomed. Beside him stood Kyojuro Rengoku, looking equally sharp in a navy blazer. "Ready to be the center of attention?"
Sanemi grunted, adjusting his collar, but his eyes drifted toward the two figures standing just a few feet away near the entrance. Sabito and Giyuu were already there, dressed up for the occasion. They were unmistakably matching; both wore clean, white button-downs tucked into dark trousers, though Sabito had a light blue cardigan thrown over his shoulders that complimented the deeper blue of the tie Giyuu was wearing. They looked polished and coordinated, a stark contrast to their usual sweaty kits.
"Oh, look! It’s the defensive line," Sanemi called out, his tone shifting into the casual, competitive camaraderie he reserved for the team. He stepped toward them, nodding at the matching outfits. "Nice threads, you two. Who dressed who? Or do you just have a telepathic link for laundry day too?"
Sabito laughed, clapping Sanemi on the back. "A little of both, maybe. You don't look half bad yourself, Sanemi. Glad you actually made it."
"Well, kinda had to show up." Sanemi shrugged.
Sabito grinned knowingly. "Was it for a certain biology major?"
"Shut up." Sanemi gave a small gentle laugh in spite of himself. His gaze wandered over to Giyuu. "You clean up good, Tomioka."
Giyuu gave a small, polite nod, his eyes scanning Sanemi’s charcoal shirt. "You look well, Shinazugawa."
"Make it flashy, Sanemi!" Tengen call out after him, winking at the trio of teammates. "If you're looking for Kanae, she's coming downstairs. So go and find her."
Sanemi took a breath, excusing himself from his friends. He adjusted his collar one last time, and stepped into the light of the entryway.
The transition from the cool night air to the interior of the house was a sensory overload. The air smelled of expensive perfume and vanilla candles, and the sound of upbeat pop music was a dull thrum through the floorboards. Sanemi felt out of place immediately, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he navigated the sea of pastel dresses and coordinated blazers.
“Sanemi?”
Sanemi was standing near the grand staircase. The voice of Kanae cut through the noise with a gentle, melodic quality. Sanemi turned, and for a second, the breath actually caught in his throat.
Kanae was standing there in a deep purple silk dress. She had her hair wavy and soft, she had opted not to sport her usual butterfly clips, instead, wearing a simple necklace with a tiny butterfly charm around her neck, and the warmth in her eyes was enough to make Sanemi’s irritation vanish into air.
“You actually showed!” She exclaimed in her usual teasing tone.
"Told you I would," Sanemi muttered, his face feeling suspiciously warm as he walked toward her. "You look nice.”
"Just nice?" Kanae teased, stepping closer. Sanemi scoffed. She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing the charcoal fabric of his shirt. "You look wonderful, Sanemi. The dark grey suits you. It’s very... striking."
Sanemi swallowed hard, his usual bluster failing him. He looked at her—really looked at her—and the words came out before he could second-guess them. "You look beautiful," his voice lowered quietly.
The tease died on Kanae’s lips. She blinked, visibly disarmed by the sudden, soft sincerity in his tone. A genuine blush crept up her neck, and her smile softened into something deeply pleased and a little shy. "Thank you, Sanemi," she said sweetly.
Before Sanemi could formulate a response that wasn't a stammered mess, a high-pitched squeal erupted from the side.
"He’s here! Oh my gosh, he actually wore a button-down!" Mitsuri appeared like a whirlwind of pink and lime green, surrounded by a group of other members. They crowded Sanemi in an instant, a wall of perfume and excitement that made him instinctively want to back away. "Oh Shinazugawa! Don't you look so nice?!"
Amidst the cluster, Shinobu stepped forward, looking strikingly sharp in a black cocktail dress with sheer lace sleeves that mimicked the patterns of a butterfly's wings. Her hair was pulled into its familiar bun, secured by a gold-and-black clip. She looked poised and undeniably happy, her usual sharp edge softened by the genuine affection she felt for the group.
"Sanemi, you look so handsome!" one girl chirped. "We weren't sure if Kanae could actually get you to come!" another added, giggling.
Shinobu stepped closer to her sister, placing a hand on Kanae’s shoulder with a proud, beaming smile. "I told you he had a decent shirt somewhere in that closet, Big Sis," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she looked Sanemi up and down. "Though I'm surprised you didn't have to drag him here by his ears."
Sanemi felt like a cornered animal. "I'm just here for the drinks," he lied, looking desperately toward Kanae for help. But Kanae only smiled, and Shinobu let out a light, airy laugh.
"Actually, Sanemi," Kanae said, her voice rising slightly to address the gathering crowd. "The house had a meeting last week. Since the soccer team has been doing so well, and since you've been so... helpful... with our various charity events..."
"Wait, what?" Sanemi’s eyes narrowed.
"We had a vote!" Mitsuri announced, clasping her hands together. "And it was unanimous! Sanemi, we’ve officially chosen you to be our Sweetheart for the year!"
The room seemed to erupt. Several people cheered, and Kanae stepped forward, holding a small velvet box. She opened it to reveal a small silver shield with an amethyst that glowed deep purple in the light.
"Sweetheart?" he echoed, his voice cracking slightly. "You've gotta be kidding me. I’m the least sweetheart guy on this entire campus. Ask anyone!"
"Don't fight it, Shinazugawa! The family has spoken!" Tengen’s voice boomed from the crowd. He shoved his way through, grin wider than ever. He clapped a hand onto Sanemi’s other shoulder, nearly rattling his teeth. "As your President, I officially certify this choice! We needed someone with a little edge to keep things flamboyant, and who better than a guy who looks like he’s permanently mad at his own reflection?"
Sanemi’s face turned a shade of red that rivaled a sunset. "Shut up, Uzui! I'm not doing this. Take the pin back."
"Nope! No refunds on Sweetheart status!" Tengen laughed, reaching out to help Kanae steady Sanemi as he tried to squirm away. "Accept your destiny, Sanemi. You’re the official mascot of affection for the next twelve months. I expect you to be twenty percent more charming starting... now!"
"I'm going to break your nose," Sanemi hissed, though his threats were hollow as he caught Kanae's soft, encouraging gaze and saw Shinobu giving him an approving, amused nod.
From the doorway, Sabito let out a loud, genuine laugh, leaning against Giyuu’s shoulder for support. Even Giyuu’s eyes seemed to hold a flicker of something—a ghost of amusement that Sanemi couldn't quite place, but it made him stop struggling just to glare back.
"Don't be so modest, Sanemi," Kanae said, stepping into the circle and gently taking hold of his lapel. "You’re our favorite. Whether you like it or not."
Sanemi watched her hands—steady and precise—as she carefully drove the sharp point of the pin through the charcoal fabric of his shirt. He felt the slight pressure against his chest, right over his heart. He felt a surge of something—a confusing sense of being seen. He wasn’t entirely sure if he liked it.
"Fine," he grumbled, though his hand stayed on the arm Kanae had offered once the pin was secure. "But if Uzui hears about this, I’m never going to hear the end of it."
"Oh, Tengen already knows," Mitsuri whispered loudly, winking. "He’s the one who helped us pick out the amethyst!"
Sanemi closed his eyes, letting out a long, defeated breath. "I'm going to kill him."
The initial rush of the crowd eventually settled, the others drifting away to find their own dates or refill their drinks. Sanemi remained by the edge of the dance floor, feeling like a decorated tree. Every time he moved, he was acutely aware of the silver pin glinting on his chest.
"You're actually wearing it," Kanae noted, her voice low and intimate now that they were effectively alone. She hadn't go of his arm, and Sanemi wasn't in any hurry to pull away.
"I didn't exactly have a choice, did I?" Sanemi retorted, though the sharp edge was missing from his voice. He looked down at her, caught again by how perfectly she seemed to fit in this world of bright lights and soft music. "So. Sweetheart. Whose idea was that? Yours?"
"It was a group decision," Kanae replied smoothly, though the slight tilt of her head told him she was the one who had tipped the scales. "But I didn't hear you say no when I pinned it on."
"Because I would've looked like an asshole in front of fifty people," Sanemi muttered. He shifted his weight, looking around the room. He saw Kyojuro across the floor, engaged in an animated conversation with Mitsuri, and Tengen holding court near the DJ booth. Then, his eyes landed on the couch near the fireplace.
Giyuu and Sabito were sitting there, sharing a quiet moment. Sabito was saying something that made Giyuu’s eyes soften in a way Sanemi found strangely irritating. It wasn't that he disliked Giyuu—not exactly—but there was a persistent, nagging tension every time they were in the same room. It felt like an unfinished argument he couldn't remember starting.
"You're doing it again," Kanae said.
Sanemi blinked, looking back at her. "Doing what?"
"Looking at Giyuu like you're trying to solve a math problem," she said. She reached up, her hand hovering near his shoulder. "Why do you let him get under your skin so much, Sanemi? He’s one of your best teammates."
Sanemi huffed, looking away. "He's just... quiet. It's annoying. Like he’s judging everyone but doesn't have the guts to say it out loud."
"I don't think he's judging you," Kanae said softly. She moved her hand, not to adjust the pin, but to gently touch the side of his neck, just above the collar of his shirt. Her skin was warm, and the contact sent a jolt through him that he fought to hide.
“I think he’s one of the few people who actually understands you."
"Yeah, right," Sanemi said, though his heart was hammering against his ribs. He looked at Kanae, her face so close that he could see her eyes—a striking, beautiful shade of light purple that seemed to pull him in.
They weren't "dating." They hadn't used the word, and they hadn't crossed the line into anything formal. They were just... this. Lab partners who stayed late to talk about everything except biology. Friends who went for walks in the campus gardens when Sanemi’s temper was frayed.
But every time she touched him, or every time she smiled at him like he was the only person in the room who mattered, Sanemi felt himself sliding further down a path he wasn't sure he was ready for.
"If you're so worried about what people think," Kanae said, her eyes dancing with amusement as she stepped into his space, "maybe you should try living up to the title. A Sweetheart usually isn't this grumpy at a party."
"I'm not grumpy," Sanemi grumbled, though his lips twitched. "I'm maintaining a 'striking' presence. Your words, not mine."
"Is that what you call it?" She laughed, a light, musical sound. "I call it pouting. It’s very cute, really."
"Cute?" Sanemi’s eyes narrowed, but there was a spark of challenge in them. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping an octave. "Watch it, Kanae. I have a reputation to uphold. If people start thinking I'm 'cute,' I’ll have to start picking fights again just to balance it out."
"Oh, I'm terrified," she whispered, not moving an inch. Her gaze dropped to his lips for a fraction of a second before meeting his eyes again. "But if you’re looking for a fight, you might find I’m a bit more difficult to handle than a soccer ball."
Sanemi let out a short, rough breath that was half-laugh, half-surrender. "You're a menace, you know that?"
"And you're a Sweetheart," she countered with a wink. "So, do you want to dance? Or are you going to keep standing here looking like a very handsome statue?"
Sanemi stared at her. "I don't dance, Kanae. I have the grace of a brick."
"I've seen you on the soccer field. You have plenty of grace," she countered, pulling gently on his arm. "Just one song. As the Sweetheart, it’s practically in your job description."
The DJ switched tracks. The upbeat pop faded, replaced by the sparkling, fairy-tale intro of an acoustic guitar and a wash of synth.
Your eyes whispered, "Have we met?" across the room...
Sanemi felt a sudden, sharp spike of adrenaline, the kind that usually hit him right before a kickoff. The shift in the room's energy was visceral. The lights seemed to dim, casting long, swaying shadows across the walls, and the sudden drop in tempo made the air feel thicker, more intimate. His hand, still shoved in his pocket, began to move of its own accord.
I'll spend forever wondering if you knew... I was enchanted to meet you.
Discreetly, his left index finger began to trace those familiar, jagged shapes onto the fabric of his thigh. The sharp angles. The flowing strokes. He did it with a frantic, silent intensity, his heart racing as he tried to anchor himself against the sudden wave of lightheadedness that threatened to pull him under. He didn't know why a song—a simple, melodic acoustic track—was making him feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff.
Sanemi looked at Kanae, and for a split second, the purple of her dress looked like a field of wisteria in the moonlight. He had no memory of such a place. He shook his head to clear the irrational flicker, the jagged tracing on his leg becoming faster, more desperate, as his mind struggled to reconcile the sudden dread with the girl smiling in front of him.
All I can say is, it was enchanting to meet you.
Sanemi let out a quiet breath and let her lead him onto the floor. As the music slowed, he carefully placed his hands on her waist. Unlike the aggressive grip he might have used on the field, he was uncharacteristically gentle, his touch light as if he were afraid the silk of her dress might tear.
She looped her arms around his neck, drawing him in until there was barely any space between them. The scent of her—the faint, clean smell of lotus flowers—filled his senses.
"You're surprisingly good at this," Kanae murmured, her voice vibrating against his chest.
"I'm just following your lead," Sanemi replied softly. He felt a sudden, sharp pang of protectiveness, but he channeled it into the way he held her, a quiet steadiness that felt like a promise. The amethyst on his lapel pressed against her dress, a cold, sharp point of reality in the middle of the haze. "Besides, I don't want to step on your toes. You'd never let me hear the end of it."
Kanae laughed softly, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I might have been a little more forgiving than usual tonight."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"Because you look like you're actually enjoying yourself, even if you won't admit it."
Sanemi didn't answer immediately. He looked down at her, seeing the way the light reflected in her eyes like stars.
This night is sparkling, don't you let it go.
He felt a desperate, lingering fear that if he blinked, she would vanish, leaving him in a world that was far colder than this one. He didn't know why he felt that way—they had been friends for years—but the feeling was a physical weight in his chest.
"Just... don't go too far away," he said, his voice unusually gruff. "I don't want to have to go looking for you."
Kanae’s expression shifted, the playful light in her eyes replaced by something deep and unreadable. She shifted her hand from his shoulder, her fingers reaching up to gently brush a stray lock of silver-white hair away from his forehead.
Sanemi froze. A sudden, intense heat bloomed from the point where her fingers grazed his skin, radiating across his face, an electric sensation that made his throat go dry.
"I'm not going anywhere," she promised.
Giyuu stood off to the side with Sabito, feeling the weight of the room press against him. He nodded at acquaintances, his face a mask of pleasant neutrality that hid the growing exhaustion behind his eyes. The party felt like the same old tired, lonely place it always did when his mind started wandering back to the Corps.
"Everyone looks so happy," Sabito remarked, his hand finding Giyuu's and interlacing their fingers. He leaned in, his shoulder brushing Giyuu's with a comfortable familiarity. "Look at Obanai. I think he’s actually smiled three times in the last ten minutes. Mitsuri must be a magician."
Giyuu followed Sabito’s gaze to the dance floor, where couples were beginning to sway to the acoustic rhythm. He watched the way the others moved—the shared glances, the quiet leans into one another. It was a beautiful sight, a testament to the peace they had earned, yet Giyuu felt like a spectator watching a play in a language he only partially understood.
"They deserve it," Giyuu murmured, squeezing Sabito's hand.
Sabito turned to him, his eyes searching Giyuu’s face with that uncanny ability to see right through the mask. "We deserve it too, Giyuu. You know that, right?" He stepped closer, closing the small gap between them until Giyuu could feel the warmth radiating from him. "You’ve spent so much time looking back. Try looking at what’s right in front of you."
Sabito reached out, his hand resting on the small of Giyuu’s back as he pulled him into a loose embrace. It was a gesture of affection, one that usually made Giyuu feel safe and loved. As they stood there, tucked away from the main crush of the crowd, Giyuu tried to focus on the reality of Sabito—the solid weight of his arms, the scent of his soap, the way his chest rose and fell.
"I'm trying," Giyuu whispered, resting his forehead against Sabito’s.
"I know you are." Sabito’s voice was a soft vibration. He began to sway slightly, a tiny, private dance just for the two of them. "Just for tonight, let the ghosts rest. It’s just us."
Giyuu closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. The lyrics of the song seemed to weave through the air, speaking of enchantment and first meetings. For a few heartbeats, it worked. The tension in his shoulders eased, and the rhythmic beat of the party felt less like a countdown and more like a heartbeat. He felt loved. He felt safe.
The vacancy vanished when I saw your face.
Giyuu’s eyes snapped open. The silver head of hair across the room acted like a magnet, pulling his gaze away from the safety of Sabito’s embrace.
Giyuu watched, frozen, as the music softened into a whisper. He saw Sanemi’s hand slide from Kanae’s waist to cup her jaw. The movement was so gentle it hurt to look at—the way his thumb brushed over her cheekbone with a reverence that didn't belong to a soccer player at a university party. Sanemi leaned down, his forehead resting against hers for a heartbeat, and Giyuu felt a phantom pressure against his own brow, a memory of a touch that hadn't happened yet.
Then, the space between them vanished. The music swelled into a shimmering crescendo, but for Giyuu, the world went silent. He watched Sanemi’s eyes search hers, saw the hitch in his broad shoulders as he seemed to ask a question without words. When he found his answer, Sanemi’s mouth finally caught hers.
Giyuu’s breath hitched in his own throat. He saw Sanemi’s fingers tangle into the silk of Kanae's dark hair, his body leaning into hers as if trying to merge their shadows on the floor. It was a scene of absolute, crushing certainty, a beautiful moment that tasted of everything Giyuu hadn't realized he was missing.
The world started flickering for Giyuu—and then it shattered. The acoustic melody, once clear and sweet, began to grow muffled in his ears, like he was sinking beneath the surface of a deep, dark pool. The sounds of laughter and the clinking of glasses turned into a distorted, underwater hum. He couldn't understand why his vision was narrowing, why the room was suddenly so cold.
Then came the pain. It wasn't the dull ache of a memory or the sting of jealousy. It was a physical, searing agony that bloomed in the center of his chest, radiating outward until his fingertips felt numb. It felt like a blade was being driven through his sternum, slow and deliberate, mirroring the way Sanemi leaned into the kiss.
Giyuu didn't know why seeing this—this beautiful, peaceful moment—hurt so much. He didn't know why his lungs suddenly felt like they were filling with ice.
At first, it was a physical sensation, like a bucket of ice water being poured down his spine. Giyuu’s breath hitched, his lungs suddenly feeling too small for the air in the room. The string lights of the house blurred into the orange glow of a setting sun. The smell of perfume vanished, replaced by the sharp, metallic tang of blood and the scent of rain-soaked earth.
A veranda. The smell of cedar and medicinal herbs.
The phantom limb of his memory reattached itself with a violent, agonizing wrench.
Giyuu saw himself, but his skin was pale, his frame drawn thin by the fever of the Mark. He looked barely twenty-five, his hair longer and tied back loosely, though his eyes were heavy with a fatigue that no sleep could cure. He was sitting on a porch, his trembling hand resting on top of another—one covered in familiar, jagged scars.
“You’re still here,” Sanemi’s voice whispered in the dark of his mind. It wasn't the voice of a college student. It was raspy, exhausted, and thick with a love that had been forged in a furnace.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Giyuu heard himself reply.
The memories flooded in like a breached dam. The four years. They hadn't been a void; they had been everything. Giyuu saw the quiet mornings in the house they had shared after the Corps was disbanded. He saw the way they had learned to exist without the weight of their swords. He saw Sanemi—the real Sanemi—the one who had finally stopped fighting long enough to let Giyuu in.
It was then Giyuu was pulled back into the heat of their life together before the sickness took hold.
It was a cold night, the kind that usually made Giyuu’s old injuries ache, but the small house they shared was filled with the dancing, orange glow of the hearth. They had made love with a desperate, quiet intensity, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that felt like a prayer against the inevitable. Now, they lay tangled in the quilts on the floor, the firelight casting long shadows over the myriad of scars that mapped their shared history.
The air in the room was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and the salt of their skin. Sanemi’s hands, rough and calloused from years of gripping a blade, were uncharacteristically steady as he held Giyuu against him. He wasn't the Wind Hashira here; he was just a man terrified of the silence, seeking every ounce of Giyuu he could reach.
As they reached the height of their shared heat, Sanemi’s grip tightened, his fingers pressing into Giyuu's skin as if trying to anchor them both to the moment. Giyuu felt his back arch, his body yielding entirely to Sanemi’s strength.
”Sanemi,”A low, broken moan escaped Giyuu’s throat—a soft, desperate sound as he called out Sanemi’s name. It was a plea and a surrender all at once.
Sanemi caught the sound with a kiss that tasted of mint, green tea and something sweet...earthy. . It was a deep, lingering heat, a claim that went beyond the physical. In the throes of their climax, as their breaths hitched in unison, Giyuu felt the vibration of his own name against Sanemi's lips. It was a seal on a vow they both knew they would eventually have to break.
“Giyuu,” Sanemi had whispered against his skin afterward, his voice raw. He reached out, his scarred fingers interlacing with Giyuu’s. “Look at me.”
Giyuu had met those turbulent, pale eyes. In the firelight, the scars on Sanemi’s face looked like threads. “I’m looking.”
“The Mark... we don’t have long. We both know it,” Sanemi said, his grip tightening. “But I’m not letting go. Not now, not when we finally found this.” He pressed his forehead against Giyuu’s, the heat of the fire mirroring the intensity in his gaze. “Stay with me. Until the very end. Promise me.”
“I promise,” Giyuu had replied, his heart breaking and mending all at once. “And even after. I’ll find you. I’ll find you first in the next one.”
The scars. Giyuu remembered tracing every single one of them. He remembered the night they had promised to stay together until the Mark claimed them.
And then, the end.
He remembered the look on Sanemi’s face in that final moment. The absolute, shattering loneliness of a man who was once again the only one left standing.
Giyuu had seen the future in Sanemi's eyes—the short, agonizing span of time where Sanemi would be the one of the last survivors of a war that had taken everyone else, including the man he had finally allowed himself to love. Sanemi, nine months younger, had always been the one trailing behind, and he had trailed Giyuu all the way to the grave.
I left him, Giyuu thought, the guilt rising like bile. I died first. I promised we'd see the end together, and then I left him to die months later, following me into the dark before he even reached twenty-five.
The memory of his own death was the sharpest. He was twenty-five, and the heat in his chest had finally become a fire he couldn't quench. He remembered lying in their bed, the sun streaming through the window. Sanemi was there, his face a mask of controlled agony, holding Giyuu’s hand so tightly it bruised. As the light caught their intertwined fingers, Giyuu saw the matching gold bands—the simple, gleaming circles that had bound them together in a world that had tried to tear them apart.
“Don't,” Sanemi had choked out. “Don’t leave me alone, Giyuu.”
“I’ll find you,” Giyuu had whispered, his last breath a promise he wasn't sure he could keep. “In the next life. I’ll find you first.”
But he hadn't found him first. He had found Sabito. And Sanemi had found Kanae.
The vision snapped shut like a book. Giyuu was back on the couch, his heart hammering so hard against his ribs that he was sure Sabito could hear it. He was shaking, a fine, violent tremor that started in his hands and moved up his arms.
"Giyuu?" Sabito’s voice was sharp with concern now. He was shaking Giyuu’s shoulder. "Giyuu, talk to me! Your eyes... you look like you're seeing a ghost."
Giyuu couldn't speak. He looked at the dance floor. Sanemi was pulling away from the kiss, his face flushed, a rare, genuine smile breaking across his features as Kanae laughed softly. He looked so happy. He looked like the man Giyuu had died wanting him to be.
But the amethyst pin on Sanemi's chest—the one Kanae had placed there—felt like a brand.
Giyuu looked across the room and found Tengen. The former Sound Hashira was no longer looking at the DJ. He was looking directly at Giyuu, his expression grim and devoid of any flamboyance. He saw Giyuu’s shaking hands. He saw the recognition in his eyes.
Tengen gave a slow, mournful shake of his head. He had known. He had known about the house, the four years, and the marriage that had been the only light left in the aftermath of the war. And he had tried to keep Giyuu from remembering, because he knew that remembering would mean losing everything a second time.
Giyuu looked back at Sabito—his best friend, the man he loved in this life. Then his gaze drifted to Sanemi, who was laughing as Kanae whispered something in his ear. The song swelled in the room, mirroring the silent, desperate prayer beginning to take root in Giyuu's heart.
This is me praying that this was the very first page, not where the story line ends. My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again
These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon
I was enchanted to meet you...
The thought was a betrayal to the man holding his hand, yet it was an instinct deeper than his current identity. It was the echo of a promise made while gasping for air in a sun-drenched room centuries ago.
Please don't be in love with someone else...
Giyuu had told Sanemi he would find him first. He had promised not to leave him alone. And as he watched Sanemi lean down to deepen the kiss, his mouth catching Kanae’s with such passion that made her eyes flutter shut in bliss, Giyuu realized the cruelty of his own return—Sanemi had finally found a world where he wasn't alone, where he was unscarred and cherished. Probably with someone more deserving than him.
Please don't have somebody waiting on you...
But someone was waiting. It just wasn't him. Giyuu looked at the man he had promised to find, the man who didn't even know Giyuu’s name was written in his soul, and felt the sheer weight of two lives colliding.
The peace was gone. The past had woke up, and it was killing him again.