Shinobu x Giyu

The sun had barely dipped below the trees when you finally left the infirmary, stretching your stiff shoulders after a long day. You expected peace and quiet outside—maybe even a moment alone—but instead, you spotted Giyu waiting by the veranda. He wasn’t pretending to be passing by this time. He was waiting for you. You stepped toward him with a raised brow. “Giyu Tomioka, standing in plain sight? Are you feeling alright?” He met your gaze without the usual fluster, which only told you how long he’d been thinking about being here. “I wanted to walk you to the gardens,” he said simply. You couldn’t help the small warmth blooming in your chest. Even now, he spoke like affection was something sacred. “Well then,” you said, sliding your hand into his with deliberate ease, “let’s go.” He didn’t pull away—he never did anymore. His grip tightened almost immediately, thumb brushing the back of your hand in that unconscious, gentle way he did when he missed you. You walked together beneath the wisteria, the evening breeze lifting a few strands of your hair. Giyu reached out and tucked one behind your ear, quietly focused, carefully soft—so soft it felt like a confession even though you were long past that stage. “You’ve been overworking again,” he murmured. You smirked lightly. “Have I? Or are you just looking for an excuse to keep me to yourself?” His silence told you everything. So you leaned into him, resting your head briefly against his shoulder. “I’m here now,” you murmured. He let out a breath that sounded like relief, then wrapped an arm around your waist, drawing you closer until you fit under his chin. It was warm. Steady. Familiar—like the kind of intimacy only the two of you understood. “Shinobu,” he said quietly, voice low. “I... missed you today.” You tilted your head up, eyes softening. “Well,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his jaw, “you have me all to yourself tonight.” Giyu’s breath caught—just slightly—but his arm around you tightened, grounding, protective, absolutely devoted. And under the gentle sway of wisteria, the two of you stood there—no teasing, no shyness—just the easy, quiet closeness of two people who’d chosen each other long ago.

It started raining just after sunset—soft at first, then steady and rhythmic, tapping against the butterfly estate’s roof like a quiet invitation. You were closing the shoji panels when you noticed a familiar silhouette standing just outside the entrance, hair damp, haori speckled with raindrops. Giyu. You slid the door open, tilting your head. “You know, most people come inside before it starts pouring.” He stepped in without protest, but his gaze stayed on you. “I... wanted to see you.” He said it plainly, like it was obvious, like he’d been walking toward you since the first raindrop fell. You sighed, but it was the fond kind—warm, helpless. Taking his sleeve, you pulled him further inside. “Sit,” you said, pushing him onto the small cushion by your work table. “You’re soaked.” He blinked up at you. “You don’t have to—” “I’m your girlfriend,” you interrupted, kneeling beside him and wringing the water gently from the edge of his haori. “And you walked through half a storm to get here. Let me take care of you.” His ears went slightly red at the word girlfriend—even after months of dating, it still flustered him. He tried to hide it by looking at the floor, but you saw it. You always saw it. Once you finished, you rested your palm on his shoulder, feeling the tension he never admitted he carried. “You could have waited until morning, you know.” “I didn’t want to,” he answered immediately—too immediately. Then softer, “I feel better when I’m with you.” Your heartbeat stuttered, just a little, but you leaned in and pressed your forehead lightly to his. “Then stay. At least until the rain stops.” Giyu lifted a hand—hesitant, but sure enough—and rested it against your waist, pulling you the smallest bit closer. “I was hoping you’d say that.” You let out a quiet laugh, brushing your fingers along his cheek. “You don’t have to hope, Giyu. If it’s me, you can just ask.” His eyes softened in that way only you ever saw, and he guided you into his arms—slow, gentle, like he was afraid to break the moment. The rain kept falling outside, but in the quiet warmth of the room, with his heartbeat under your hands and his breath brushing your hair, you didn’t mind at all.

The forest was still humming with the remnants of battle when your knees finally gave out. You pressed a hand against your side, teeth clenched as blood seeped between your fingers. The demon was gone—poisoned, collapsed—but you’d taken the hit first. You tried to steady your breathing. Tried to stand. Tried to pretend you weren’t fading. That’s when you heard it—the faint rush of footsteps cutting through the trees, too fast, too frantic to belong to anyone but him. “Shinobu!” Giyu’s voice cracked as he dropped to his knees beside you, hands immediately hovering, not sure where to touch without hurting you. His eyes widened when he saw the blood on your uniform, and the quiet panic in them was unmistakable. “I’m fine,” you tried, breath thin. He didn’t believe you for a second. “Don’t.” His voice trembled—barely, but enough for you to notice. “Don’t pretend you’re alright.” Carefully—so carefully—he slid an arm behind your back and another under your legs, lifting you before you could protest. You let out a soft wince, and he paused instantly. “Does it hurt here?” he asked, the worry in his voice deeper than any wound. “Everything hurts,” you muttered, leaning your forehead weakly against his collarbone. “But you’re warm.” That seemed to break whatever restraint he was clinging to. His arms tightened around you just enough to make you feel safe, but not enough to jostle your injuries. He carried you through the trees, movements steady, jaw set in fierce determination. “I’m taking you home,” he said quietly, as if promising it to both of you. “I won’t let anything else happen to you.” When you reached the edge of the Butterfly Estate, he didn’t hand you off—not to the Kakushi, not to anyone. He carried you straight to your room, gently laying you onto the futon like you were something precious. He knelt beside you, fingers trembling slightly as he untied your haori to check the wound. “Shinobu... you shouldn’t have fought alone.” You reached up and brushed his cheek with your fingertips. “I wasn’t alone,” you whispered. “You came.” That simple truth made his breath hitch. He took your wrist gently, guiding your hand down but keeping it held in his own. “I was scared,” he admitted, voice barely above a breath. “When I saw you on the ground... I—” He stopped, unable to finish. You squeezed his hand, smiling weakly. “Giyu. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, exhaling shakily like he’d been holding his breath since the moment he found you. “I’ll take care of you,” he whispered. And he stayed—cleaning your wound, bandaging your side, brushing your hair out of your face with soft, steady hands. And when you finally drifted to sleep, pain eased, you felt his fingers intertwined with yours the whole time.