After The Rain

Wildflower

"Hah?!"

Sanemi glared down the figure now standing before him. The man was crouched down, in his palms a wooden box. He chanced the faint scent of Anko powder wafting through the open air, the breeze sweeping the comforting aroma through the estate. He would think that Giyuu had already got the message after he had beat him up a few days prior — leave him alone. And yet here he was, grovelling at his feet like a stout servant, his head bowed and posture reverent.

"Here." He looked up. Sanemi could've sworn that there was a flicker of hope shining in his eyes. "Ohagi."

He could feel steam boiling up in his throat and trailing out of his ears like fine mist. "I know." His hands were clenched, veins bulging and popping through his white skin. Anybody could see that he was seething, but somehow, Giyuu remained painfully oblivious.

Or, Sanemi backtracked, adamant.

"What I'm asking is why."

He frowned. "I thought you liked it."

"Who told you that?"

Giyuu shrugged, his face impassive and unmoving. "I made it myself."

"I said," His teeth were gritted. "Who the fuck told you that?"

He thought for a while, before setting the little box to his side. Sanemi had half the mind to slap it away, but something in his heart stilled his hand. God, this man was testing his patience. "You were there. It was Tanjirou."

Ah. Anger was beginning to grip at his lungs, each laboured breath swirling through the air in white smoke. That little shit. He wanted to strangle him, maybe run the kid through with his katana. Tanjirou had annoyed him enough: after their fistfight, it was evident that they would never get along. He had asked too many questions and dug too deep, feeling in the dark for everything that Sanemi had struggled to hide away — about his likes, about his past, about Genya. Too many things he had uncovered in the span of a few days because of his accursed sense of smell and annoying talent for discerning his emotions. Even after they were barred from seeing each other, the boy was now ridiculing him from afar. Through the fucking water pillar.

His lips were drawn into a painful smile, fist raised. He wanted to start raging at Giyuu, maybe throttle him and land a few hits. "So are you mocking me, now?"

"No." He stood up. Pebbles from the gravel floor clung to his black uniform, forming flecks of grey that dotted the fabric like little stars. "I'm here to ask you a question."

Sanemi growled. Seriously? "I don't care about your question." He said, each word hissing through the air and coiling up like a snake. "Ask Iguro, or Kochou. Now kindly fuck—"

Giyuu raised a hand. "It's about Kanae."

Sanemi froze. His hand wavered in the air before falling to his side, limp like a withered stem, his mouth left ajar. The wind seemed to halt its sway, yellow leaves once floating through the air now falling to the ground like golden rain. A single leaf drifted into his lap, settling on his leg in a gentle touch.

Sanemi looked down at the floor.

"...Kanae?"

He hadn't heard that name in a long time. No, not in a few years. It was an unspoken rule, a hushed promise, that her name was uttered only in the celebration of her life, the way she passed a quiet secret. All this for the sake of Shinobu, who had been beset with grief. The death of any pillar was a tragedy that few would ever mention: because it sowed doubt in their prowess, a grim reminder that no matter how hard you may train, you will always be human. In the face of demons, in their supernatural ways and insurmountable power, and in the face of the Twelve Moons, who possessed skill unmatched by even the strongest individuals of the corps, death was inevitable.