Giyuu Tomioka stood near the edge of the training yard, his tall figure framed by the evening light. His expression was as unreadable as always, and the only sound around him was the quiet rustling of the trees in the wind. He absentmindedly adjusted the small, delicate bow that rested on the back of his head, nestled in his dark, messy hair. It was soft and out of place against his rugged appearance—a stark contrast to his role as the Water Hashira.
It wasn't the first time people had stared at him for it, and it wouldn't be the last. Giyuu could feel their eyes on him as he passed by, some curious, some judgmental, all wondering why someone as stoic and cold as him would wear something so delicate, something that didn't match him at all. But Giyuu never explained. He didn't owe them an explanation. The bow had belonged to his sister. It was the last connection he had to her, and wearing it was his way of keeping her with him, even if it didn't make sense to anyone else.
He'd grown used to the stares. The questions rarely came out loud, but the weight of them lingered in every glance thrown his way. Most of the time, he ignored it. He was used to being misunderstood.
Across the training yard, Obanai Iguro watched him, leaning against one of the wooden posts that marked the boundary of the training grounds. His arms were crossed over his chest, Kaburamaru draped lazily around his neck, his sharp eyes fixated on Giyuu. Obanai was smaller, shorter than Giyuu, but his presence was no less commanding. His face was mostly hidden by the bandages that wrapped around his mouth.
Jealousy gnawed at him like a slow burn every time he saw someone approach Giyuu, even if it was just for a routine conversation. He hated it—hated how much it bothered him, how every word exchanged between Giyuu and someone else felt like a threat, even if Giyuu remained as aloof as ever. There was something about seeing others trying to connect with Giyuu that set Obanai on edge, as though they were stealing moments that should belong to him.
But of course, he never said anything. Obanai wasn't the type to voice his feelings easily, and Giyuu... Giyuu was oblivious. The man barely noticed the world around him, let alone someone's unspoken jealousy.
Kaburamaru shifted slightly, sensing his tension, and Obanai reached up to lightly stroke the snake's head. He tried to focus on the task at hand—training, preparing for the next mission—but his eyes kept drifting back to Giyuu. He didn't feel worthy of the attention Giyuu gave him, rare as it was, yet the jealousy remained, gnawing at him all the same.
From where Giyuu stood, he could sense Obanai's eyes on him, though he didn't turn to meet his gaze. The silence between them was familiar, but not uncomfortable. They had an understanding that didn't need words. Both of them were solitary by nature, and neither of them felt deserving of the other's attention. Giyuu, in particular, carried the weight of his guilt like an ever-present shadow. He didn't feel worthy of the title of Hashira, let alone the idea of being cared for by someone like Obanai. His past haunted him—the death of his sister, the failure he carried with him every day—and that bow in his hair was a constant reminder of his inability to protect those he loved.
But Obanai... Obanai was different. Even with the jealousy that Obanai didn't quite manage to hide, Giyuu felt something there—something unspoken, but comforting in its own way. It was like Obanai understood, without needing to ask for explanations or make demands. He just was.
Just as Giyuu was about to leave the training yard, someone approached him—a fellow Demon Slayer, a young man who seemed eager to engage Giyuu in conversation. "Tomioka-san!" he called out, his voice too loud, too chipper for the somber atmosphere that surrounded Giyuu. "I've been meaning to ask—about that bow you always wear. Does it have some kind of... significance?"
Giyuu paused, his body stiffening slightly. The question wasn't new, but it still grated at him, pulling him back to a place he didn't want to be. He could feel the eyes of others on him now, waiting for a response, curious about the answer he rarely gave.
Before Giyuu could formulate a reply, a shadow appeared beside him—Obanai, his presence suddenly looming despite his shorter frame. His mismatched eyes locked onto the young slayer, a cold, piercing gaze that made the man flinch.
"Is it your business?" Obanai asked, his voice low and dangerous, despite the bandages muffling it. Kaburamaru shifted around his neck, sensing his master's irritation.
The young slayer faltered, his face paling. "I—I didn't mean—"
"You didn't mean to what? Pry into something that doesn't concern you?" Obanai's voice cut through the air like a knife, and the young man quickly muttered an apology before retreating, his face flushed with embarrassment.
Giyuu stood there, silent as ever, though a faint flicker of something—gratitude, perhaps—passed through his eyes. He hadn't asked for Obanai's intervention, but it was appreciated nonetheless.
Obanai turned his attention to Giyuu, his gaze softer now but still intense. "People should learn to mind their own business," he muttered, his eyes scanning Giyuu's face for any sign of discomfort.
Giyuu looked at him, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He adjusted the bow slightly, as if reminded of its presence.
Obanai nodded once, his own tension easing now that the unwelcome intrusion was gone. He didn't say much more—he rarely did—but his presence was steady, reassuring in a way that words couldn't be. They both understood what it was like to carry burdens too heavy for others to see, and that was enough.
