Sanemi is the first to wake.
It's morning. A glance at the clock tells him it's almost nine. Much later than he usually wakes up, but Sanemi supposes it's only natural given the night he just endured.
He swallows. Licks his lips. There's an acrid taste in his mouth, and briefly he contemplates taking a trip to the kitchen for a glass of water to flush it away.
He doesn't get very far. The moment he raises himself up on one elbow, Sanemi spots a streak of black on the pillow beside him and realizes he's not the only one in his bed.
The memories hit him harder than a train. Harder than a thousand trains, running him through clean as a sword.
He brought Giyuu home. Giyuu made eyes at him all night, kissed him in an empty bathroom, and Sanemi took him home. Took him home, then pressed him into a wall and fucked him there, speaking his secrets to life and stealing Giyuu's in return.
And now he's in his bed.
He'd wanted to take Giyuu out at least once before fucking him for real, but clearly that wasn't where they ended up. Sanemi could ask today, after he wakes up. If Giyuu doesn't say yes now, Sanemi figures he never will. He already took the dive; all that's left it to resurface.
It's been a long time since Sanemi's had someone in his bed, even longer since it was someone he cared about.
Giyuu's facing him, turned half on his stomach and half on his side, one arm curled under the pillow and the other tucked into his chest. He's got the covers pulled up to his chin, melded into them like they're his own, hair strewn out in waves over the pillowcase. A lock of it falls across his forehead, obscuring one of his eyes.
Sanemi's reaching out to brush it away before he can think about it. At the touch, lighter than a hummingbird's wing, Giyuu's brow twitches and Sanemi feels his breath stall. Giyuu sighs, a heavier exhale than before, and turns his cheek deeper into the pillow. It's the beginnings of coming awake, but for now his eyes remain closed.
In the lull, Sanemi lets the events of last night come back to him, deviating from a dream-like trance to become reality.
After coming, Giyuu had all but passed out, hand going limp underneath Sanemi's own. He slumped forward, lost to the world, and let Sanemi use him in his own race to the finish. Seeing that Giyuu was in absolutely no shape to clean himself out if he came inside, Sanemi pulled out last second to release in spurts over his ass instead. It was a timing he'd learned to perfect through shooting porn, one he never imagined would come in handy outside the job. But alas.
When he finally dug himself out of the smoky pleasure of orgasm, Sanemi found Giyuu half-recovered, body stirring where he'd fucked it flat to the wall. He could hardly stand, wobbling around on liquid knees until Sanemi locked an arm around his waist to support him. Giyuu murmured his thanks, hair a mess where it brushed Sanemi's bare shoulder, chin lolling down and snapping up again as he fought against sleep in the middle of the hallway.
Sanemi raised his head. He looked up the hall, towards his bedroom, then down the hall, towards the front door. Braced against him, Giyuu snuffled, scrubbing at his face with his hand, and Sanemi turned towards the bedroom. In his current state it would've been inhumane to kick Giyuu out, and it was no trouble letting him stay the night. The consequences of doing so were lost to Sanemi, who thought only of making it to the comfort of his bed and knocking out.
On their way over, Sanemi had half a mind to pick up their scattered clothes and throw them over the top of his dresser. He snagged a box of tissues and, throwing it in Giyuu's general direction, told him to clean himself up before lying down. Without checking if he did or not, Sanemi wrestled his underwear back on, moved onto the other side of the bed, and collapsed into his mattress. It was lights out before he hit the pillow.
And now—Giyuu's in his bed. Next to him. Sleeping.
His lips are pale but swollen, parting every now and then on a little exhale of breath. In the scant light, they look gray, and if Sanemi tries hard enough he can still remember the way they felt against his own. Soft in the first butterfly kiss that brought them here, then harder, desperate and messy in that shameless way Giyuu can get when he stops overthinking.
With those pale lips, the smooth curve of his cheek, the loose hair framing his face, he looks more like a painting than a living person. Looking at him, Sanemi doesn't think he would mind if Giyuu stayed there forever, a watermark pressed into his sheets.
As he comes to this realization, Giyuu's eyes crack open. They look as dark as his hair, growing lighter and lighter as he emerges from the confines of sleep.
When they find Sanemi's, everything grates to a stop. Time, air, and space, all held down in the instant where Giyuu looks at Sanemi and Sanemi looks right back at him with bated breath.
Then Giyuu blinks once, slow and lethargic, and he smiles. Slight, scant, a smile more present in his eyes than in his mouth.
Good morning, Sanemi means to say. Feels his mouth part around the 'g,' ready to vocalize it, when Giyuu realizes exactly where he is. Would've said it, too, if not for the way Giyuu's eyes snap wide open and horror spreads over them like oil spills over the ocean. Dampening that smile, extinguished without a spark.
Then his neck snaps up, then his entire upper body, upsetting the covers in one flurry of motion.
"No," he says, more to himself than to Sanemi, fingers shaking where they grip at the sheets.
"No," he says, "no no no," over and over, repeating it in a mantra that shreds the morning to tatters. Letting go of the sheets, Giyuu grabs at his head instead, cradling it between his palms, nails sinking into the hair below.
No.
No, what? No, don't speak? No, don't ruin the moment? Or—no, I don't want to be here?
Sanemi gets his answer when Giyuu finally frees himself from the prison of Sanemi's bed and tumbles out of it so sudden and so frantic he nearly falls to the floor. The second he regains his balance, teetering in the dimness of the room, Giyuu heads straight for Sanemi's dresser, for the clothes sitting on top. In his hurry, he knocks the entire pile to the floor and has to kneel down on unsteady legs to pick it up again. He must hurt all over, from the pounding headache of a hangover to the places where Sanemi fucked him into the wall, but Giyuu just grits his teeth and rifles through the clothes in desperate search of his own.
Sanemi sits there, shocked, the drowsiness of sleep still stuck to him. He tries to shake it off, tries to say something—anything, anything—but all he can hear is no, no, no.
Can only sit there, passive, and watch as Giyuu's skin disappears under his clothes. His hands are still shaking, hair tumbling over his shoulders in the same waves Sanemi traced when he was asleep.
"Shouldn't be here," he mumbles, the whites of his eyes flashing as he shoves a foot through the leg of his pants with excessive force. "I shouldn't be here."
He looks like a caged animal, cornered, backed into a dead-end alley.
Except he isn't. Sanemi's still under the covers, struggling to catch up, unable to comprehend how Giyuu's moving so fast so soon after waking up. He can't understand the sheer panic in Giyuu's face, the regret etched into every line of his mouth. What he's so afraid of. What he's running away from.
It's him, of course. He's running away from Sanemi.
Looking at him, Sanemi realizes he's never seen Giyuu's emotions so unguarded before. Save for last night, when Giyuu stared up at him with stars in his eyes and told him I want you.
Was he lying, then? Was it all a lie? Everything—the kisses, the confessions, the implication of more—was it all a lie?
Watching Giyuu almost trip over his pants with the speed at which he yanks them up to his hips, Sanemi has a hard time believing otherwise.
"You don't understand," Giyuu blurts, mouth pinched downward, "I don't, I'm not—I can't do this—"
"Giyuu," Sanemi says, finally mustering his ability to speak. Yet he doesn't speak. That's all he says—Giyuu. Nothing more. If Giyuu would just slow down, just look up, look Sanemi in the eye and tell him—
Giyuu fumbles with his zip. Hands still shaking, pale as mist. He doesn't hear Sanemi at all, when all Sanemi can hear is him.
"—can't do this. I didn't mean—I never thought it would get this bad. I never meant to let it get this far, I—"
Even in the dark, even across the room, Sanemi can see them. The marks he left. The ones Giyuu asked for, begged for. The ones Sanemi gave willingly, eagerly, in a way that said he would've given the world, too, if Giyuu had asked. They're strewn all over his skin, stretching from the very edge of his jaw down to the dip of his throat, snaking around his shoulder and up the side of his neck. They're everywhere. Wherever Sanemi looks, there's another one. And another. And another.
He remembers a vicious satisfaction when he left them. With every press of his mouth to Giyuu's neck, he felt satisfied, even more so when Giyuu gasped and tried to arch into it despite being caught between the wall and Sanemi's body.
Now, drinking in the outrageous number of marks and realizing Giyuu doesn't want a single one of them, Sanemi can only feel a crippling repulsion.
Anger boils below it. It's a silent, swirling anger, one that Sanemi has never quite felt before. An anger that's more frustration than anything, watching Giyuu run away from what he had so desperately wanted only half a day before.
Giyuu tugs his shirt over his head. The collar snags on his neck, rubbing at a tender spot, and Giyuu flinches so hard you'd think someone swung a fist at him. He slaps a hand over the expanse of his neck, maybe to cover the bruises, maybe to feel them out, but he misses most of them by a long shot. Sanemi left more than he can possibly hope to hide.
Standing there, stiller than he was when asleep, holding his neck, unbreathing, Giyuu delivers the final blow.
"It was a mistake," he whispers. "This—this was a mistake."
When he lifts his eyes to Sanemi's, they're black again. Opaque, rigid, without any shine. Inside, Sanemi can't see a thing.
A mistake. A mistake a mistake a mistake a mis
Like Sanemi was just a lapse in his control and nothing more. Just seven letters and a biting poison dipped in half-truths and pretty lies.
He has nothing to say.
Giyuu turns away. He drops his hand from his neck, letting it hang limp by his side, seeming to realize that attempting to hide the evidence is more than futile. Fully clothed, he crosses the room and leaves without a backwards glance.
Seconds later, the front door slams.
Out of consideration for his neighbors, Sanemi does not scream. Instead, he curls his fingers into a fist and pummels it into his pillow, something clogging in his throat until he can hardly swallow. The anger swells, clouding his vision dark, finally resembling something he's used to.
The mattress is still warm under his fingers. But no matter how hard he digs them into the fading heat, the little proof that Giyuu once laid there beside him, his chest remains frozen solid.
Sanemi does get up, eventually. He gets up, and he leaves his room, and he pours himself that glass of water he was thinking about getting before Giyuu woke up and told him it was all a mistake.
He clings onto his anger for as long as he can, which turns out to be not very long at all. He clings to it because he's afraid of what will be left behind and because the second it leaks away Sanemi feels so empty he could choke. He stands against the counter in nothing but sweats and sunken self-pity, holding his glass of water between his fingers without taking a single sip.
It's too empty. Too still. No more than it usually is in his apartment, but today the emptiness claws its way into Sanemi's chest and sets its roots in deep.
He takes a long shower. He makes himself breakfast. He sits at his desk to study and stares at his notes until they muddle together and Sanemi hasn't taken in a single word. He cleans his room, then the entire apartment. Sits down to study again. Wanders out to make dinner. Flicks open the TV and clicks it off again. Checks his phone. Nothing important.
Sunday is just as bad. Nothing happens and Sanemi is starting to feel like a stranger in his own body. He doesn't think of Giyuu and Giyuu doesn't think of him, because his phone remains quiet all through the weekend and beyond.
No, he doesn't think of Giyuu. He doesn't think of how it felt to set his teeth into Giyuu's perfect smooth skin, or his voice when he begged Sanemi for more, or the way he smiled at him through sleep-softened eyes. Of course he doesn't think about it. How could he? Where Sanemi had planted gardens of hope, Giyuu wrought it ugly with pretty roses hiding thorns and venom and mistakes. He'd be a blind, stupid fool to think about it.
He doesn't think of Giyuu because he doesn't have to. Because though the physical part of him tore itself away, the thought of him never left. Sanemi sees him reflected in the clear blue skies, the rain when it falls in sheets of gray, the angles and shadows of his apartment walls. He stays, like a ghost, one that Sanemi holds onto even when it bleeds his fingertips cold and dead as frost.
He holds on, even when he knows he should let go. Giyuu already abandoned his end of the stick, leaving Sanemi to carry all the weight upon his own back in the slim chance he decides to come back. He should drop it, dust his hands off, and walk away, because this is the end. Whatever him and Giyuu had, whatever they—Sanemi—had hoped to have—it's over. For good. No one runs out like that the morning after still harboring any intention to return.
Like Sanemi wants him to return. It's better if he stays away, out of reach, out of possibility, out of temptation. Especially out of temptation, because when it comes to Giyuu, the reservoir of his self-control dips down to zero and into the red. The less Sanemi sees of him, the better.
Fuck him. Fuck Giyuu for leading him on not once, but twice. For fooling him, for making him think he was special, and for convincing him that Giyuu really, truly wanted him.
Sanemi tries to hate him. Any way you look at it, Giyuu was a shitty person who made shitty decisions, all of which unloaded on Sanemi in the end. He wanted what he wouldn't let himself have, slipped up one too many times, and in his panic cut down the bridge between them with no thought as to what might lay on the other side. He left Sanemi stranded there on an island by himself, and he ran.
It isn't so simple. If it were, Sanemi would have no trouble conjuring up his anger and, by extension, his hatred. Others have done far less to earn far more strife.
Because maybe Giyuu ran because he didn't want to be the one left behind. Not again. If Giyuu can't work out his own issues, there's nothing Sanemi can do. And if shit like this keeps happening, he isn't sure if he has the mental capacity to wait for him anymore. If Giyuu even wants him to wait.
Sanemi might be holding on, but that doesn't mean he feels nothing at all.
While he can acknowledge the baggage Giyuu carries from his past, the dynamic they built can hardly be comparable. So what if the guy he used to like didn't like him back? Sanemi isn't him, and he's made it pretty damn clear that he's interested. Giyuu saw that interest and, taking advantage, bent and pulled at it until fractures appeared between his fingers. Used it for one night of indulgence, for a drunken tryst trimmed with gilded promises and dirty tricks.
I want you, he'd said. For only one night, he should have added.
Sanemi knows it wouldn't have made much of a difference. Either way, he would've fallen into the trap. Giyuu could've told Sanemi he was going to eat his heart out, and so long as he wore that smile Sanemi would've followed him into hell.
There's a word for that and it isn't hate. It tickles the back of Sanemi's mind, peeling back the corners far enough to slip inside when Sanemi forgets to barricade it shut. He sees it and he breathes it and he refuses to spell it out in the fucked up strings of his heart.
The strain of doing so doesn't go unnoticed by the people around him. Masachika gives him worried glances all week and Sanemi avoids them all. He's no stranger to this game of hide-and-seek; if he doesn't want to be found, he won't. Sooner or later he'll cave, but right now everything is still too fresh for him to speak out loud.
When his friends and the occasional classmate extend invitations to hang out, Sanemi accepts much more often than he normally does. Not because he wants to, but because it does the job in getting his mind somewhere else, if only for a few short hours. For that same reason, he swings by the gym more than usual just to give himself something to do. Whenever he can't sleep, Sanemi leaves his apartment for the deadened streets outside, tracing his steps around the area until the soles of his feet ache and his lungs burn from inhaling bone-chilled air and the shells of his thoughts.
There are now more offers in his inbox than ever. Sanemi denies and delays them one after the other, citing poor excuse after poor excuse, then eventually stops replying altogether. It tugs at him a little, turning down easy money, but not enough to change his mind; the two hits he had with Hashira are more than enough to keep him afloat for now. And with the constant tumult in his mind, Sanemi genuinely doesn't know if he can perform ideally on set anymore. Because thinking of porn makes him think of Giyuu makes him think of that night and the following morning, effectively destroying his ability to get it up. Which is a damn shame, because that night definitely ranks among the top five of his best fucks, both on and off camera. Giyuu, the bastard, occupies three out of the five spots. He's ruined Sanemi's life.
Every day he fears waking up to an email from Hashira. If Uzui wants him and Giyuu to film together again, Sanemi has no clue what he'd do. The money they're putting into him is only increasing, and for Sanemi there's a point at which saying no isn't an option anymore. Especially since he's already rejected a good number of other jobs.
Whenever Uzui calls on him next, Sanemi's going to bite his tongue and say yes. It's a ticking time bomb, one that Sanemi eyes from the sidelines with nothing but trepidation as a shield. He can only hope that once the timer ticks to zero and the explosion blows everything to pieces, he'll have gotten over Giyuu.
But as the days pass, then a week, then another and another, Sanemi starts to think that maybe he's wrong and there isn't going to be a next time. If Giyuu himself told Uzui not to pair them up again, there's no wonder Sanemi hasn't heard anything yet.
Fine. No, even better—good. Good. Like he said, the less he sees of Giyuu, the better. The best if Sanemi doesn't see him ever again.
And, like he said, it isn't so simple.
Because even if it was all a mistake, if Giyuu played with his heart, if it'd be best for them to never meet again—Sanemi still misses him. In the deepest part of his soul, where it aches the most, Sanemi misses him.
Sanemi deals with it like he deals with all things. Bundled up and bolted behind bars where he hopes it will disappear instead of corroding its rickety cage away.
And if it doesn't, he can always pretend.
As the timer ticks away, so does life. Sanemi still has to put up with the monotonous wheel of everyday routine, like going to class, acting as if nothing happened, and, as it happens on this particular Friday afternoon, playing chauffeur to his brother and his three ungrateful friends.
Inosuke won't stop moving, Zenitsu's constantly whining about this or that, and Tanjirou just stirs up more conflict where he tries to keep the peace. Sanemi's already had to manually roll up the window several times before Inosuke gets the chance to stick his whole torso outside the vehicle. At one point, Sanemi heard the unmistakable sounds of someone ransacking the back pocket of his seat, scattering plastic water bottles and old magazines all over the floor. Tanjirou apologized for whoever had caused the mess and began to clean it up, only to get derailed yet again by Inosuke banging on the glass and accusing a passing car of "challenging us to a deathmatch."
At every red light, the entire car sways, an obnoxious back and forth motion that pushes Sanemi closer and closer to his breaking point. He's already looked back six times, shouted at least double that amount, and is on the verge of busting a major blood vessel in his forehead. Every fucking time he agrees to drive this ragtag team of kids around, it takes less than a minute for the regret to settle in. And every fucking time, he swears to himself this is the last time he's doing this shit. Hell, he's this close to booting them all out—even Tanjirou—and making them walk the rest of the way.
Only Genya is somewhat bearable, sitting in the passenger's seat as quietly and calmly as he can with his friends churning up a storm barely an arms length away. But even he can't let Sanemi marinate in misery alone.
"Hey, 'nemi. You aren't doing anything tonight, right?"
Sanemi side-eyes him, suspicious. "Depends."
Hopeful, Genya turns to face him for his next suggestion: "When we get there, you should come inside with us. Maybe grab some food? I'm sure Tanjirou would—"
"Oh, yeah!" Tanjirou separates himself from the tussle to smush himself in between the two front seats. "I know Mom and Nezuko made more than all of us could possibly finish. And everyone would be happy to see you, Sanemi! Last time, Genya told us you had to be somewhere else, but if you're free n—"
"Buckle your damn seatbelt!" Sanemi snarls.
"Ah! Sorry!" Tanjirou yelps and disappears back into his seat. There's a thud, likely someone's head making an impact with something just as hard, followed by Zenitsu's high-pitched screaming and Inosuke's manic laughter.
Tanjirou reappears between the seats, still without his seatbelt. Sanemi prepares to rebuke him again, along with threatening to stop the car in the middle of the road if the other two don't calm down, but Tanjirou resumes talking before he can get a single word out.
"It's just a little dinner party," he says over the racket. "Super low stress. It'll be fun. Come on!"
Knowing Tanjirou's family, everyone within a five mile radius has probably been invited. And there's probably enough food to feed not one, but multiple small villages.
It's another distraction. Sanemi needs as many of those as he can get.
"If you don't, then you're a wuss!" Inosuke cackles from the backseat. "Loser! Coward! Pus—"
"He's going to kill you!" Zenitsu shrieks, grabbing Inosuke by the collar to shove him face-first into the back of the passenger's seat. Sanemi's grateful, at least until Inosuke starts throwing his fists, coming dangerously close to uppercutting Sanemi in the jaw.
"Wh—GET BACK!" This is so unsafe. It's a miracle they haven't been pulled over yet.
"You promised, remember?" Genya prods.
"I didn't promise shit."
"Pleeease?" Tanjirou takes over, putting his chin next to Sanemi's headrest and giving him those trademark Kamado puppy eyes through the rearview mirror. Sanemi can't stand it. "Pretty please? Pretty pretty please with sugar on top?"
Sanemi snaps. "Fine. Fine! Just shut your goddamn mouths or so help me I will—"
"Got it!" Tanjirou beams. To Genya, he says, "That was easier than I thought!"
Genya, preoccupied with dodging Inosuke's raging fists, struggles to reply. Eventually, Inosuke switches tactics from punching the air to prying Zenitsu off him.
"That's—good," Genya says, recovered. "You've seemed really stressed lately."
Sanemi almost laughs. 'Stressed' is the nicest way to put it.
"School's busy, huh?"
"Sure."
Upon freeing himself, Inosuke roars his retaliation and immediately wrangles Zenitsu into a headlock.
"SAVE ME, TANJIROU!"
Sighing, Tanjirou takes his chin off Sanemi's seat and returns to damage control.
"HAH! How hard can college be?" Inosuke retorts, completely ignoring Zenitsu's legitimate fear for his life. Sanemi's surprised to learn he's been keeping up with the conversation all this time. "I bet you're just a weak little boy! WEAK!"
"I SAID, HE'S GOING TO KILL YOU!"
"HE CAN TRY!"
That's it. Sanemi raises his voice to its highest possible volume and yells, "SIT THE FUCK DOWN!"
It works—for three seconds. After the initial wave of shock has passed, chaos returns as swiftly as it had left. Genya advises him not to swear, Tanjirou bursts into apologies, Inosuke demands Sanemi square up, and Zenitsu sounds like he's started to cry.
Sanemi just grinds his teeth and holds it together. They've finally entered Tanjirou's street, the end in sight, and when Sanemi pulls into their driveway he swears he's never been so happy to see a house before.
"Thank you for the ride, Sanemi!" Tanjirou chirps as Sanemi puts the car in park.
"Out, all of you. Get out!"
"Eep! Out! OUT!" Zenitsu lunges for the door, pushing it open with enough force to send everyone sprawling out into the driveway. Then he bolts for the house, lightning fast, screeching once he realizes Inosuke is right on his tail. Tanjirou and Genya trail after them at a normal pace, chatting leisurely like this is an everyday occurance. In all likelihood, it is.
Behind the wheel, Sanemi puts his head back, focuses on his breathing for a hot minute, and thanks whatever god may be listening that they made it over in one piece. Once he's composed himself, he exits the car and locks the doors before joining the little savages at the entrance.
When Sanemi gets there, Tanjirou's holding the front door open for him to pass through the threshold.
"Here we go—welcome! Make yourselves at home. Be right back!" With that, Tanjirou bounds into the kitchen, followed quickly by Inosuke towing Zenitsu along against his will.
Absently, Sanemi slips off his shoes and nudges them to the side where all the others lie. His ears are still ringing from that absolute circus of a car ride when he leaves the foyer for the living room.
And there, standing by the couch with his jacket over his arm, is Giyuu.
They spot each other at the same time. Crackling suspense, the pulse before a car crash. Sanemi sees his life flash before him, and Giyuu's eyes pop open so wide it would've been comical if not for the circumstance.
Sanemi's gone mad. That's the only rationale for why he's seeing Tomioka Giyuu in the very last place he should be.
When he finds his voice, Sanemi says, "Why the fuck are you here?"
Giyuu swallows; Sanemi sees his throat ripple with the movement. His neck is pristine, not a trace of Sanemi left on him. Other than that, he looks identical to the last time they stood under the same roof. Down to his eyes, drenched in panic and quiet disbelief.
Sanemi can't wrap his head around it. Part of him still thinks he's hallucinating, up until someone else calls out Giyuu's name and Sanemi realizes that yes, the person standing in front of him is just as real as he is.
That someone is Tanjirou, entering the scene alone this time. He stops at Giyuu's feet, a human barrier between him and Sanemi, but too short to block off his view.
"Oh my gosh, it's really you! Nezuko just told me you were here, but I had to see for myself. I'm so glad y—Giyuu?" Noticing that Giyuu isn't looking at him, Tanjirou takes a step back and traces Giyuu's line of sight across the room to Sanemi.
"Do you two know each other?" he asks, pure and harmless. It lances straight into a wound still fresh and sore, reviving a pain Sanemi thought he'd already buried underground.
"No."
Sanemi's the one to say it. He lies so he doesn't have to hear Giyuu do it. He lies, then immediately wishes he hadn't because the way Giyuu's face contorts is a thousand times worse than admitting the truth.
And Giyuu—Giyuu has no right looking at him like that. Like heartbreak, scratched glass and severed lungs. So full of woe that Sanemi starts to wonder if he mixed it all up and he was the one to bring everything to ruins, not Giyuu.
If anyone should be wearing that look on their face right now, it should be Sanemi. Not Giyuu.
You have no right, Sanemi wants to tell him. You don't get to toss it away like trash, then pretend you lost something as valuable as gold. You don't get to make me feel bad, when you fucked it all up.
Had Giyuu wanted him to say yes?
"Oh... okay. Sorry for assuming! Well, this is Giyuu, a family friend of ours. Giyuu, that's Sanemi, he's Genya's older brother. Also single." Tanjirou winks, elbowing Giyuu a little, blissfully unaware of their history.
Sanemi feels so sick he might throw up. Giyuu has both the audacity to look away and the sense to stay silent. He bites his lip, and Sanemi has to look away too.
A mistake a mistake a mistake
Sensing the immediate shift, Tanjirou backtracks. "Too much? Sorry. Just teasing. Anyway, Giyuu, it's been forever! How are you?"
Sanemi doesn't stick around long enough to hear Giyuu's answer. He might've agreed to come in, but that's on the assumption that he gets the distraction he's looking for. If the very reason why he needs a distraction is here, that renders his agreement null and void. Sanemi doesn't care how rude it is. He's out.
It's just his luck that when Sanemi turns back the way he came from, he finds his brother stationed by the doorway. He isn't sure how much Genya saw, but judging from his expression he's been there since the moment Sanemi and Giyuu caught sight of one another.
When he reaches the doorway, Genya doesn't budge.
"Move," he says, getting antsier by the second. He can feel the crawling sensation of Giyuu watching him go, centered between his shoulder blades and branching out over his back.
Everything in Sanemi screams for him to put as much distance between him and Giyuu as possible, but Genya does not move. He glances over Sanemi's shoulder with a frown and asks, "What was that?"
"None of your business," Sanemi mutters back. Giyuu's stare is starting to burn, the sharp edge of a knife cleaving under his skin.
"Really?" Genya sounds exasperated. Sanemi's had enough. "This is the second time you've acted like that guy is your—"
"I'm leaving." He pushes past Genya, who doesn't offer much resistance. He isn't necessarily wrong for wanting an explanation, but this is neither the place nor the time to provide one.
Outside, Sanemi still can't manage to pull himself together. He puts that distance between him and Giyuu, hoping it will be enough to stitch him back into one, but all it does is tear him further apart along the seams.
In no mood to cook for himself, Sanemi orders takeout and spends the rest of the night holed up in his room, staring out the window and counting the cars that roll across the street below.
He keeps eyeing his phone, unsure of what he's anticipating up until the moment it starts to ring. The call doesn't surprise him, nor does the name flashing at the top of the screen.
Snagging it off his desk, Sanemi sits back on his bed and picks up. "Hey."
"Hey," Genya returns, a whoosh of air leaving him as he flops onto the couch. "I just got home. Probably ate too much, but Tanjirou kept giving everyone seconds. And thirds. I lost count of how many plates I had."
"Fun," Sanemi deadpans.
"Yeah. Super fun," Genya says. "No, but actually. I had a good time."
Sanemi just hums, already on edge. He knows Genya didn't call just to give him a recap of his evening. This is about Sanemi and what he's been hiding, the repercussions of which manifested right before Genya's eyes this very day.
The ceiling was bound to collapse. From the very start, Sanemi knew he couldn't keep his secret from Genya forever, but he thought he'd be done with the whole porn thing before it became too obvious. Then again, he hadn't anticipated Giyuu, so Sanemi should hardly be surprised everything's come crashing down on him.
"I wanted to talk to you ab—oh, wait. Hold on."
There's the muffled sound of someone else speaking, an exclamation, then another voice. Genya pulls the phone away to reply, but remains close enough for Sanemi to hear what he's saying.
"Yeah, it's him. Give me a minute and you can say hi, okay?"
More muffled voices follow, undecipherable but clearly dejected, fading away as Genya moves into another room and closes the door behind him.
"Sorry. Everyone wants to know when you're going to visit."
"Uh, I'm planning on it. Soon. Probably next weekend."
"Oh, great," Genya says. A short silence follows. "So..."
"So."
"What's been going on with you?"
Sanemi could keep lying. Though today's incident definitely roused ample suspicion, Genya isn't the type to force a confession out of him. He could lie. Keep pretending.
But he won't. Tiptoeing around the subject will only stress them both out, complicate things moving forward, and potentially drive a wedge between them. Besides, it's starting to approach the same point where he broke and told Masachika.
The gag is up. Sanemi's heartbeat goes funky, skipping all over the place. He thinks he might be breaking out into a cold sweat.
"It has something to do with Giyuu, right?"
Yes, Giyuu's a part of it. But in order to talk about Giyuu, Sanemi has to establish context. Specifically, he has to tell his brother where he met Giyuu in the first place.
Genya should be old enough to handle it maturely, but this doesn't alleviate any of Sanemi's suffering.
Getting started is like pulling teeth.
"Okay, uh. Yeah, it does. But first I have to tell you—I'm... I do—um, on the side I... I do p—"
"I know!" Genya exclaims before he can finish. "Um. You don't have to say it. I know."
"You." Sanemi actually stands from his bed, shooting up so fast his head whirls. "You what?"
"I kn—"
"Who told you?"
"No one! Not directly. It's complicated. I found out through one of my friends, but—"
"Which one?"
Genya hesitates. "...Tanjirou."
Tanjirou? Tanjirou? Does that mean that while Sanemi was driving them to his house, Tanjirou knew exactly what he was doing? There's no way. Sanemi was careful enough to keep even his brother from finding out for months on end. Shit. Shit. This is so fucking bad.
"Fuck—what? How?"
"He doesn't know about you," Genya splutters. "I told you: it's complicated. Let me explain, okay?"
Starting to pace around his room, Sanemi takes a deep breath to calm himself. "Fine. Don't leave a single thing out."
Relieved, Genya explains.
It happened the day they saw Giyuu at that diner. To be more precise, it happened immediately after the fact, once Genya had stepped into the Kamado residence.
Being the last to arrive, he found his friends already waiting for him in the kitchen, chattering on about something or other around the dining table. Genya gave them Sanemi's regards, then popped the lids to the pizza boxes and grabbed a plate for himself. As everyone swiped slice after slice from the greasy cardboard, Tanjirou told him to deliver their thanks for the food and asked how Sanemi was doing. With a shrug, Genya said, "Alright, I guess," and took a seat.
This transitioned to inquiries after the younger Kamados and Muichiro's brother, which then trickled into sibling talk. Muichiro lamented having to share a room, Genya spoke of his own extreme sharing experiences, and Inosuke celebrated loud and proud that he was an only child. Zenitsu asked Tanjirou if he ever wished he had an older sibling, to which Tanjirou replied that he felt he already had one.
Gnawing on a string of cheese, Muichiro turned his cloudy eyes on Tanjirou and mumbled, "Who?"
As he did most things, Tanjirou explained simply and cheerily. During his childhood, his family was extremely close with their previous neighbors, who moved out a couple years ago. Tanjirou often played out in the yard with the younger son, Giyuu, and in this way grew up alongside him. Despite their age gap and Giyuu's introverted nature, they continued to remain close through his preteen years and beyond. Upon graduating, however, Giyuu grew more and more distant, drifting away like a paper boat drifts down a river. Though they hadn't seen each other in the flesh for over a year, Tanjirou considered him one of his dearest friends and, as he said, like an elder brother.
While speaking, Tanjirou had pulled out his phone in search of a picture. He said, "Ah! Here's a good one," and put his phone flat on the table to show them all.
Genya was beyond lucky to have chosen the seat next to Tanjirou, because the way his face morphed would've definitely been called out otherwise. Everyone else, occupied by the picture, paid him no mind.
It was an old one, taken back when Tanjirou was still in middle school. He sat smiling between two taller boys, an arm slung around each of their shoulders, one of whom drew Genya's immediate attention because he had seen that same face—well, a more mature version, but unmistakably the same person—less than an hour ago.
It was the same man who shrank from his brother like he had the plague, who knew him through some "work" Genya was having unprecedented difficulty figuring out.
Giyuu appeared lanky and misplaced through the photo, face caught between a last-minute smile and a grimace when the camera flashed, eyes the same striking blue Genya recalled from across the room. They seemed brighter on Tanjirou's phone though, a transient moment from the past.
The boy on Tanjirou's other side was of a different disposition. Unlike Giyuu, he radiated confidence, mouth bent in a charming grin that creased the ragged scar on the right side of his face.
All in all, the photo was cute. The familiarity between the three of them was clear even through the phone, smushed together like peas in a pod.
Shaken, Genya tried to follow whatever the conversation had moved onto after Tanjirou clicked his phone shut and put it away. Mostly, he marveled at the cynical humor of the universe and its love for dragging him into its little games.
Later, once everyone else had moved to the living room in preparation for the movie, Tanjirou stayed behind to sort out the mess. Genya quickly offered to help him out, and as they stacked everyone's plates together and swept all the oily napkins into the trash, dared to ask:
"So, are you and that guy, Giyuu... Are you not close anymore, or...?"
"Oh, no!" Tanjirou shook his head earnestly. "I always try to keep up with him, but ever since he moved out it's been hard getting into contact. Which is why I'm gonna try really hard to convince him to come over sometime soon so I can finally introduce him to all of you! He's a great guy, really."
"I'm sure he is," Genya replied. Spotting a window of opportunity, he asked, "So, what does he do?"
Tanjirou put the trash bin down, looked up at him with a smile not at all out of the ordinary, and said, "Porn!"
And Genya dropped the plates he was holding to the floor.
Thankfully, they were not ceramic, and therefore did not shatter into a million pieces upon impact. Genya bent down to gather them up again, heart thumping a mile a minute, and when he straightened back up Tanjirou peered at him curiously.
"Do you have a problem with it?" he asked. "It's unconventional, sure, but he has his reasons. Anyway, even if he didn't, we don't shame anyone for that kind of work. Right?"
"R-Right," Genya stuttered, and had to turn away with his haphazard stack of plates lest he drop them again.
That was the last they spoke of it. Tanjirou carried on as usual, Genya tried to follow suit, and the night concluded with their customary movie.
Back in the present, Sanemi is definitely not having a mental breakdown.
"Please tell me you didn't say anything to Tanjirou."
"About what?"
"Me!"
"Of course not! It still hadn't sunk in for me yet."
"God," Sanemi groans, still pacing. "Fuck. I tried so hard to keep it to myself."
"Yeah. You did a good job, too. I never would've guessed."
"And you never thought to say anything to me about it? That you knew?"
"I figured, y'know... You'd tell me on your own time. If you decided to tell me at all."
Completely drained, Sanemi finally sits back down. "This sucks ass."
"Don't worry, I don't think any less of you or anything! And I won't tell anyone."
"You better fucking not."
Genya sighs, an air of sympathy. "Yeah, 'nemi. I promise."
"Good."
"Can I, um, ask one question?"
Sanemi just puts his head in his hands and lets out a sound of utter defeat.
"I think I know why, but. Are you really okay with it? I don't want you to feel like you have to do something you don't want to do just for the money. I could help, or something..."
Sanemi's sure he could, but that's out of the question.
Ever since their dad died, their mom has toiled day and night for the means to support them all. Every penny mattered and still matters today. As the two oldest, Sanemi and Genya did what they could to help, and no matter how hard things get now Sanemi would never consider asking his family for any form of financial assistance. It's his job to support them. If money ever flows between them it's coming out of Sanemi's pocket and into theirs, not the other way around.
Besides, he's been on this ride for months now. As with all rides, he encounters bumps along the way, but nothing major enough to throw him off.
"Yeah, no. I mean—it's whatever. Obviously I'm going to get a real job once I graduate. But I'm fine now. I don't feel forced, nothing like that. It's just temporary."
"Okay. Just making sure."
"You just focus on you, alright? You, Mom, and the others. Don't worry about me."
"You know we'll always worry about you," Genya says. Then, leaving no room for Sanemi to argue, he continues: "I know I said one question, but could I get another?"
Sanemi's pretty sure he knows what follow-up question Genya has in mind, but he entertains him anyway. "Shoot."
"What's the beef between you and Giyuu?"
And he was right. Here we go.
"There's no beef."
"Then what is it? You really seem to hate him."
"It isn't hate."
Not hate. Something else, something more like—
"There isn't much to say," Sanemi adds, hasty, trying not to follow that thought to completion. "I like him a little." A gross underestimate, but Genya doesn't need to know how far Sanemi's already fallen.
A sharp inhale. "You—"
"But he doesn't want anything to do with me. Rookie mistake." Sanemi laughs, intending to lighten the mood, only for it to come out so strangled it does the exact opposite.
"So it's totally normal to like your coworkers?"
"No," he says. "I'm just an idiot."
"Oh." Genya pauses. "If it makes you feel any better, Giyuu was mopey all night."
Feeling incredibly heavy all of a sudden, Sanemi lets his chin drop down to his chest. He laughs again, quiet. "Yeah, no shit. That's just how he is."
"Oh, for real? 'Cause I'm talking like, real mopey. Like poking at his food without eating it mopey. Even Tanjirou couldn't shake him out of it. That's how mopey he was."
Sanemi snorts, tipping his face up to the ceiling. "Stop saying mopey."
"What, is it lame?"
"Hella."
"Okay, okay," Genya says, and Sanemi can tell from his voice that he's trying not to laugh. "Well. I just wanted to check on you. And I'm glad. That you decided to tell me, I mean. Not in a weird way. Just—"
"I get it," Sanemi interrupts, sparing his awkward mess of a brother from trying to articulate his support. Awkward or not, Sanemi knows he means well. "Thanks."
They talk for another ten minutes before Genya hands the phone over to the kids who've stayed awake. They speak over each other, Sanemi struggling to distinguish the end of one sentence with the start of another, until it's time for them to turn in for the night as well.
Once he hangs up, Sanemi falls back, arms splayed out on either side of his body, and drops his phone somewhere off to his right. He'll curse himself the next morning when he can't find it amongst the sheets, but for now he just needs to lie down and breathe and try his very best to forget.
And he can't. Even when he closes his eyes, Giyuu sticks out like a flame under a blanket of darkness. Wherever Sanemi looks, he's there, an unavoidable blip in his subconscious. Next to him sits that word, tickling at the back of Sanemi's mind, the opposite of hate.
The mattress is cold under his fingertips. No matter how hard he digs them into the lasting chill, the proof that he lies alone in his bed, the heat of another body doesn't return
Word count- 8014