Gifts and roses..-*

Chapter 3 - Again.

Giyuu sat alone in his dimly lit bedroom, his fingers slowly working to undo the buttons on his uniform. The silence of the room was punctuated only by the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards. His movements were more sluggish than usual, as he found his mind elsewhere. Ever since the Hashira meeting, a sense of unease had settled over him, unable to rid the thoughts lingering in his mind.

Though the task was routine, tonight, it felt like a distraction- a way to keep his hands busy while his mind remained elsewhere, fixated on a single, troubling question: Why did Sanemi hate him so much?

He had replayed their interactions over and over, searching for a moment, an action, anything that might have provoked the Wind Hashira's ire. But no matter how many times he examined the past, he came up empty. He had never intentionally done anything to anger Sanemi, yet every time they crossed paths, it seemed as though the man was always ready to snap at him, to find fault in even the smallest things. Even when Giyuu had tried to be nice, extending olive branches that were promptly ignored or rebuffed, it made no difference.

He couldn't understand it, but no matter how many times he had tried to get over it, it remained lodged like a thorn in his side- constant, irritating, and impossible to ignore.

Giyuu sighed, his thoughts drifting back a couple of weeks. He remembered hearing that Sanemi had returned from a mission after several days away, battered and bruised but stubbornly refusing to spend any time in the healing bay. It was typical of him-Sanemi never took care of himself as well as he should, he had that whole tough guy act going for him after all

As Giyuu was walking to the healer's, it dawned on him what he was doing. He never went out of his way to care for someone like this, and yet, here he was, gathering herbs for a salve to help the Wind Hashira of all people. There was something about Sanemi that had been tugging at the edges of his consciousness, something that made him feel differently toward the white-haired maniac recently.

The realization grew sharper as he passed the herbs to the healer. He hadn't fully grasped it before, but he had started to find himself drawn to Sanemi in a way that unsettled him. He had started longing to be around him more and more, to somehow get closer to him.

The gruff exterior Sanemi put up, the anger that always seemed so close to the surface- it all seemed to be masking something deeper, something that Giyuu couldn't quite put his finger on. And for reasons beyond his understanding, he was beginning to care about that hidden side of Sanemi more than he had ever bargained to.

As he carefully packaged the salve, he found himself hoping it might ease Sanemi's pain and speed his recovery. The gesture was small, but it felt significant to Giyuu. He made his way to Sanemi's estate, the package wrapped neatly in his hands. But as he arrived and knocked on the door, reality crashed down on him like a cold wave.

What was he doing? Sanemi was going to be pissed to see him. Why was he even here? His breath caught in his throat as Sanemi's voice rang out from inside, rough and demanding to know who was there. Giyuu froze, the package suddenly feeling heavy in his hands, slick with his nervous sweat. His mind raced. 'Just give it to him and leave. It's normal. We are colleagues,' he tried to reassure himself.

But as he raised his hand to open the door, Sanemi's voice sounded again, sharper this time, impatient. Panic surged through Giyuu, his heart pounding in his chest like a trapped animal. What would Sanemi say? Would he be annoyed? Would he demand an explanation? Would he think the gesture was stupid, pointless?

Overwhelmed by a rush of anxious thoughts, Giyuu made a split-second decision. The fear of what might happen- of the possible confrontation, the potential embarrassment- became too much. He placed the package down on the doorstep and retreated quickly, disappearing off before Sanemi could catch sight of him.