The Soulmate Link | SaneGiyuu

Nineteen - Short and Sweet

Sanemi's arms tightened around Giyuu as the weight of the moment settled in. The gentle rhythm of Giyuu's breathing against his shoulder, the warmth of his body, the way he fit so perfectly—it felt surreal. Like they had always belonged like this, even though they'd only just realized it.

Giyuu's forehead rested against Sanemi's shoulder, and his hands remained frozen at his sides, as if he was unsure how to reciprocate. His breathing was shaky, a mix of quiet restraint and the overwhelming flood of emotions that neither of them knew how to fully express.

Sanemi wasn't sure how long they stood like that. Time had lost its meaning, as though the universe had pressed pause, allowing them to simply exist together in the quiet of the room. But as much as Sanemi wanted to stay like this forever, he knew Giyuu needed more than silence—he needed reassurance. He needed to know that he wasn't alone in this anymore.

With a deep breath, Sanemi loosened his grip slightly, shifting so he could look down at Giyuu. His voice was softer than usual, the gruff edges softened by the tenderness he didn't even realize he was capable of.

"Giyuu," he murmured. "Look at me."

Giyuu hesitated for a moment before slowly lifting his head. His blue eyes were filled with a vulnerability Sanemi hadn't seen before, like he was holding himself together by sheer willpower. It tugged at something deep inside Sanemi, a protective instinct he wasn't used to feeling. Giyuu was hurting—he had been for a long time—and the weight of that realization hit Sanemi like a punch to the gut.

"You don't have to carry this alone," Sanemi said quietly, his hand gently cupping the side of Giyuu's face. The touch was cautious, almost hesitant, but Giyuu didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned into it, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief second, as if savoring the warmth of Sanemi's hand against his skin.

"I'm not good at this," Sanemi admitted, his voice hoarse. "I don't know the right things to say, and I sure as hell don't know how to fix what you're feeling. But I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Giyuu's eyes opened slowly, glistening with unshed tears that he was desperately trying to blink away. He bit his lower lip, clearly struggling with something before he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I've lost everyone, Sanemi." His words were raw, each one cutting deeper than the last. "My parents, my sister... all of them. And now you... you're here, but what if I lose you too?" His voice broke on the last word, and Giyuu looked away, his jaw clenching as if he was ashamed of the admission.

Sanemi's heart clenched painfully at the confession. He wasn't used to seeing Giyuu like this—so exposed, so open. Giyuu had always been guarded over the phone. And now Sanemi understood why. It wasn't that Giyuu didn't care—it was that he cared too much. The thought of losing someone else was too much for him to bear.

"You're not gonna lose me," Sanemi said, his voice firm but gentle. He reached for Giyuu's hand, threading their fingers together. "I'm not like the others. I'm not going anywhere."

Giyuu's gaze flickered to their joined hands, his expression unreadable. "You can't promise that," he said quietly. "No one can."

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Sanemi shot back, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of Giyuu's hand. "I could've walked away. Hell, I tried to ignore this for so long. But it didn't work. I'm here, and I'm not leaving."

Giyuu's lips parted as if to argue, but no words came out. His eyes met Sanemi's again, and this time, there was something different in them—something like hope, but fragile, like it might shatter at any moment.

"I don't know how to do this," Giyuu admitted after a long pause, his voice shaky. "I don't know how to let someone in."

Sanemi felt his chest tighten at the vulnerability in Giyuu's words. He'd spent so long building up walls to protect himself, and now that they were coming down, it was clear just how much it had cost him.