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“Being a Hashira cannot be this hard.” Claims one of Sanemi’s temporary trainees. Or at least that’s what Sanemi assumes he said. The guy’s still recovering from getting his ass beat by a Hashira and his panting is slurring his words together. Sanemi doesn’t remember his name, because why the hell would he, but he does remember that he ranks somewhere between Tsuchinoto and Hinoto. That’s what Sanemi heard the guy bragging about, who knows if that’s actually true.
If Kamado Tanjirou were asked to describe the slayer’s personality, he would say he’s the approximate product of a fusion between a moody Genya and an even moodier Zenitsu who passed on their more abrasive traits, or something equally as frilly. Sanemi, however, would not have the patience to use any of those kinder, indirect descriptors. He would outright call him an asshole man-child. The Wind Hashira is a violent, vulgar, and generally malevolent man. It’s a fact of life. His opinion of his loudmouthed trainee, however, is not entirely unique to him. “Asshole” is a word that most people would use to describe the guy. Kamado with his unwavering compassion is the outlier.
“Why would you say something like that?” A different trainee questions, halting in the middle of his prayer for the grace of the gods. He’s still facing up towards the sky from his position lying flat on the ground, but the question is aimed at the asshole man-child.
“If you ask me, I think the Hashira are making us do all this shit to scare us off. They’re just trying to keep their top spots. No way they’re all that strong.”
Sanemi hears a few groans that aren’t entirely caused by pain from a pile of worn-out slayers. Once the guy gets going, it’s almost impossible to stop him.
“Just think about it. Barely any of the Hashira look any different from the rest of us. I mean, there’s a little kid and a tiny girl among them.”
Yeah, this guy pisses Sanemi off.
Someone else pipes up, “What about the Stone Hashira?”
“Okay, yeah, that guy’s super built. He might be the only one who deserves the Hashira rank.”
Sanemi is about to walk over there and grab the loudmouth by his scruff and prevent him from ever speaking again when the Kamado kid joins the conversation.
“Rikitake, all the Hashira are incredibly skilled and physically strong, even the ones who don’t display obvious physiques.”
How the hell does he know?
“How the hell do you know?” Riki-something mirrors Sanemi’s exact train of thought, which only pisses him off further.
“I saw a Hashira in the bath! Even the Hashira you wouldn’t expect to be strong have incredibly muscled builds and tiny waists from years of hard work!”
Those are not sentences Sanemi expected to ever come out of that sunshine-y brat’s mouth.
Which Hashira did he see in the bath? If he’s remembering correctly, there’s an onsen at the previous swordsmith village, which means it’s most likely either Kanroji or Tokito. Kanroji, who is deceptively brawny and most definitely has a tiny waist best fits the description. Sanemi almost snickers when he imagines the consequences of Iguro finding out that the Kamado kid saw the Love Hashira in her most vulnerable state. He’d pay to see Kamado get disintegrated.
“Tanjirou, what?” The yellow-haired kid asks.
“Oh, right,” the Kamado kid seems to realize what he just said, “You know how Giyuu-san wasn’t originally part of the training roster? And how I decided to become a demon slayer when he saved me and my sister? Well, he thought he didn’t have anything to offer to the corps and he smelled incredibly sad and upset so I had to be persistent and follow him everywhere, but I accidentally reminded him of his dead boyf- best friend- dead best friend who trained me as a ghost so I had eat way too many cold soba noodles in order to convince him to train everyone. In the process, I saw him in the bath, but my methods worked so it was all really important for the cause.”
Sanemi doesn’t know how to unpack all of that, and from the ensuing silence it appears nobody else does either. It would only be beneficial for Sanemi to forget everything that Kamado said, but one thing the kid mentioned catches in Sanemi’s mind.
Tiny waist?
It’s true that the ugly-ass haori the Water Hashira wears over his uniform obscures his figure, but can it really be true that the asshole has a tiny waist? Even if he does, why would Sanemi care?
His thought process is adding to his ever-growing frustration. Sanemi sees one way to silence the discord in his head.
“Break time’s over!” The thud of the hilt of his sword being butted into a trainee’s head punctuates Sanemi’s announcement. He revels in the collective startle he’s caused, manic laughter vibrating in his chest. The idiots all seem to forget he’s there whenever he lets them rest.
The elation of getting Tikitaki or whatever his name was to cry in twenty seconds flat erases anything Kamado said about Tomioka from Sanemi’s mind.
That is to say, it stays erased until the next Hashira meeting.
Ever since the training regimen began, meetings have been held with increased frequency to assess the progress of the corps. Sanemi says his piece and listens for anything relevant, but for the most part, he tunes everything out. He hadn’t been listening since his equals started singing the Kamado boy’s praises. It’s either been said before or it’s something he can figure out himself, Sanemi rationalizes. It’s as good a reason as any to let one’s mind wander.
Unfortunately for Sanemi, it’s nothing more than a farce.
The latest Hashira meeting concludes with no important developments, so Amane-sama and her children take their leave while the Hashira remain to chat amongst themselves. Almost as soon as the matriarch turns the corner, Iguro is beckoning Sanemi out of earshot from the rest of the Hashira.
“Shinazugawa,” he starts, his eyes narrowed accusingly, “What is with you?”
Sanemi furrows his brows, immediately offended, “What?”
“Did Tomioka do something more annoying than usual?”
“What?” Sanemi reiterates, though out of confusion this time.
“You keep glaring at Tomioka,” and before Sanemi can cut him off, he elaborates, “But in a different way than usual.”
Iguro sighs, and thank god he does because the other man would kill him if he says ‘what’ one more time. “Listen, just figure something out. If you keep glaring that hard at Tomioka’s back you’ll burn his clothes off with your eyes. Nobody wants to see that.”
“Whatever,” Sanemi scoffs, “Same place as always tonight, yeah?”
Sanemi leaves the conversation with a strange feeling of unknown origin tightening his throat. Whatever Iguro was implying rubbed him the wrong way. When he turns around amidst his processing, he happens to meet the Water Hashira’s eyes.
“Nobody wants to see that.” Iguro wasn’t lying when he said that, but why does Sanemi feel like there’s something more to that sentence?
In the recesses of his mind, a repressed memory plays itself.
“I saw… in the bath… incredibly muscled build… tiny waist… Giyuu-san...”
Almost reflexively, he sneers at Tomioka, who only raises an eyebrow at him and leaves for whatever hole he crawls out of every morning. Sanemi’s eyes never leave him as he recedes from view.
Fuck. Sanemi wants to see that. Shit.
Alright, there’s no need to panic. Sanemi wants to see Tomioka’s waist, it’s nothing more than a simple fact. If he molds his mentality well enough, he can stay in denial for longer. The Kamado brat brought it to his attention that Tomioka has a tiny waist, maybe Sanemi just wants to see it for himself. It’s all just a passing fascination, and seeing is believing, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Maybe Sanemi just doesn’t want to take Kamado’s words as law. It can’t be denial if it’s true.
He’ll just have to prove Tomioka’s waist is actually tiny, and then he’ll be back to glaring at the man in a normal, healthy way. Easy. The Kamado kid saw Tomioka’s waist effortlessly, how hard can it be?
Actually, when he thinks about it for more than two seconds, Sanemi does not want to stoop down to Kamado’s stalker-ish ways. The problem will most likely go away on its own, who cares what Iguro says.
He very swiftly realizes the problem will not be going away on its own en route to his estate when he sees a passing man drinking from a hollow gourd and almost trips over his feet.
His trainees go through hell later that day.
“Sorai,” he calls out to his crow when all the slayers have crawled to their cots, “Guide me to the Water Estate.”
Tomioka’s estate is a collection of large, yet bare traditional rooms. Every step Sanemi takes halves his resolve to keep searching for Tomioka’s bathroom, but each time he considers turning back he has the contradictory feeling that he’s in too deep to do so.
Up ahead, he can see a sign well enough to glean the word “bath,” so he hurries to find a hidden spot to sit and wait. While stealth isn’t really Sanemi’s style, he wouldn’t be a Hashira if he didn’t know how to sneak around. It’s only as he’s settling down when he recognizes a major flaw in his plan.
The window that should have had a perfect view of the bath has been boarded up, clearly a product of the Kamado kid’s stalking tendencies. Sanemi wants to stab someone.
In the midst of mentally cursing the Kamado bloodline, Sanemi has to stop and consider what led him to the Water Estate. His hand meets his own face with a loud clap.
Was he really about to try and spy on Tomioka in the bath just to see his waist? Is he out of his mind? He clearly hasn’t been getting enough sleep, he must be too busy thinking about Tomioka’s stupid waist to keep his head screwed on straight. Why was he so pissed at the Kamado kid when he should really be pissed at himself? Spying on people in the bath, holy fuck, what has this world come to?
He’s late to his sparring session with Iguro. Iguro won’t stop looking at him weirdly. Sanemi definitely deserves the scrutiny, he knows he’s a mess.
When the next Hashira meeting concludes, Tomioka is the first to leave like he always is. Sanemi, however, stays kneeling in his spot, stuck in his own head.
When Iguro stares down at him, a question on his scrunched eyebrows, Sanemi waves him off, letting the Serpent Hashira shrug and trip over himself to speak to Kanroji without getting overly flustered.
Between this meeting and the last, Sanemi has done nothing but torture his subordinates and blush at the sight of gourds. Something has to give, and it has to give quickly. He can’t keep living like this.
With no other warning than a deep, bracing inhale and a slow, steadying exhale, he dashes out the door. He’s lucky he knows the way to the Water Estate, because damn can Tomioka leave the premises quickly. It takes a good amount of sprinting to find the man and the mismatched haori that Sanemi has gotten so familiar with as of late.
“Tomioka!”
Surprisingly, Tomioka actually stops and turns around. Sanemi almost leaves marks on the ground when he skids to slow himself to avoid crashing into him.
“Tomioka,” he starts, and Tomioka takes a hasty step backwards when Sanemi doesn’t stop advancing towards him. “Wait, dumbass, I’m not trying to fight you.”
When he gets within an arm’s length of the other Hashira, he hesitates, but quickly shakes off his apprehension. “Don’t try to kill me when I do this, okay?"
Tomioka seems concerned. “What-”
Sanemi’s hands hover over either side of Tomioka’s waist. They both watch as the fabric of the Water Hashira’s uniform gives way to Sanemi’s grip, sinking inward, and inward, until with only a moment’s notice, Sanemi has the other man’s midriff firmly in his grasp.
Sanemi feels hysterical, he squeezes Tomioka’s waist. “The Kamado kid was right,” he says with mirth, “It really is tiny.”
“Shinazugawa, what?”
It takes a second for Sanemi to remember himself, and an even longer second to jump out of Tomioka’s space. He feels his blood rushing to his face, burning and pounding.
As Sanemi is wont to do, he explodes. “Why doesn’t your uniform fit, you fucker?!”
“Why are you mad at me?” Tomioka’s face doesn’t change apart from a slight tilt of his head.
Sanemi doesn’t really know the answer to that. He keeps yelling anyway. “Why am I ever mad at you?!”
“I don’t know.”
Sanemi scowls at him. “What do you mean you don’t know?! You’re a cold asshole who’s too high and mighty to bother with anyone or anything. You think you’re so much better than me, than everyone, why wouldn’t I be pissed with you?”
Tomioka’s frowning now. “But I’m not better than you.”
“What?” Sanemi’s blood cools from a boil to a simmer. What is Tomioka talking about?
“Why would I be better than you?” Tomioka’s head tilts to a larger angle. Now they’re both confused.
Sanemi can’t deal with this. He grabs Tomioka by the collar of his uniform and watches up close as his eyes widen.
“Let me get this straight. You turn down any and all invites that come your way, you dodge conversation like it’s poisonous, you drip with enough disdain to make children cry, and you expect me to believe you don’t think you’re better than me?” At some point during his rant, he’d started shaking Tomioka in his hold, forcing Tomioka to grab one of his wrists.
His eyebrows furrow on top of his frown. This pout on his face is probably the biggest expression Tomioka has ever had in his life.
“I don’t deserve to be a Hashira. I don’t know how to interact with you. I’m not like you.”
What? Is that what he meant all this time?
Tomioka stumbles a little when his feet rest fully on the ground again.
“You created a water breathing form.”
Sanemi is close enough to see Tomioka’s eyelids droop a little.
“Water breathing is the easiest breathing style.”
Something roils in Sanemi’s gut, but it’s not anger. “Its ten forms are the easiest to master. You went above that. You have to know that you’ve more than mastered it.”
Sanemi is confused. Tomioka is confusing. Sanemi doesn’t get him.
Sanemi remembers something the Kamado kid said during his rambling, something about Tomioka smelling sad. Sanemi thinks the kid is weird so he wrote that part off, but those words come to the forefront of his mind now. Tomioka was sad, and it seems like he still is. Sanemi lets go of Tomioka’s collar, but Tomioka doesn’t let go of his wrist.
Sanemi was wrong about Tomioka. He thinks back to every encounter with him where he put words into his mouth, every time he’s even seen the other man and thought about him with derision, and he puts it all into perspective. All this time, he thought Tomioka hated everyone, but all this time, Tomioka only ever hated himself. Sanemi treated him like shit when Tomioka was just sad.
“I’m an asshole.”
Tomioka’s face goes a bit slack. “Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”
Sanemi’s body tries to laugh, get pissed, and express remorse at the same time and he ends up kind of just grunting. “You’re a little shit.”
Tomioka is still holding on to his wrist. Sanemi’s body does another confusing thing. His stomach flutters. Is he smiling?
The Water Hashira looks a bit panicked, but Sanemi’s feeling too light to care. “I’ve been sparring with Iguro after dark. Tokito joins us sometimes. You should come too.”
The panic doesn’t fade from Tomioka’s face. If anything, it doubles. Sanemi rolls his eyes. “I won’t let Iguro maim you. Just come, Tomioka.”
Tomioka’s eyes go kind of shiny. “Oh,” he says softly.
It brings back that roily not-anger feeling inside of Sanemi that makes his face warm up. Great, Tomioka’s just as shiny as Kamado. For some reason, it doesn’t piss him off. Knowing this pisses him off. He’s going to do something drastic.
He grabs Tomioka’s waist again. “Go get your stupid uniform tailored, asshole.”
He turns to leave before he does something dumb again. Before he gets too far, Tomioka grabs his attention. “Shinazugawa.”
“Hm?”
Tomioka grabs his collar, pulls him in, and presses his lips to Sanemi’s. It’s quick, Tomioka’s retreated before Sanemi can realize what happened. “I’ll be there.”
And Tomioka leaves with little more than a wave.
That night, Iguro looks at Sanemi with near murderous intent when he shows up with Tomioka in tow. Sanemi shrugs at him with a dangerous grin. “You told me to figure it out.”
Iguro sighs, but relents with no questions. He jumps a small distance backwards and falls into a ready stance, the other two Hashira follow suit. “Every man for himself. No serious injuries.”
There’s no room for conversation after that.
Adding Tomioka into the mix was the best idea Sanemi’s had in days. The others rarely had the chance to see the Water Hashira in action due to his tendency to keep to himself. Water breathing is relatively common among slayers, but the way Tomioka wields the style is entirely unique. The inherent flowing quality of the style translates into a subtle, yet potent grace with him. One moment he’s seeping through and trickling past Iguro and Sanemi’s defenses little by little, then the next his blade is slashing through the air with the temperamental force of an ocean. It’s easy to feel almost waterlogged under Tomioka’s barrage, but Iguro and Sanemi give as good as they get. The push and pull of the tides of the fight is difficult and unwavering, and it’s thrilling.
They only stop when they’re panting from exertion and sated from a good match.
Before they part, Sanemi pats Tomioka solidly between his shoulder blades. “You’ve been holding out, Tomioka. Fighting you is fun.”
Iguro shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The visible half of his face scrunches up as he hums in agreement. “We’ll make you have to use that eleventh form next time, Tomioka.”
Tomioka blinks. “I’m invited back again?”
Sanemi groans. He takes Tomioka’s face between his hands.
“Yes you’re invited back, dumbass,” he says, and he kisses him once, if only to quell the incessant fluttering in his gut. “Now get out of here before Iguro self-destructs and takes us both out with him.”
Tomioka does that glowy thing with his eyes and Sanemi has to shove him away before he kisses him again and makes things worse for the both of them.
Like a man resigned to being slaughtered for his crimes, Sanemi slowly turns around to face Iguro.
Iguro’s pupils are little more than pinpricks against the whites of his eyes. His snake is coiled tightly around his shoulders in an almost repulsed manner.
“You’ve gone insane,” Iguro says, deceptively calm.
“I already know,” Sanemi says guiltily.
“Finally. I thought that would take much longer.”
“I- wait what?”
Iguro releases a hissy laugh, “You’re so obvious, Shinazugawa. Goodnight.”
As the Serpent Hashira leaves, his snake hisses behind his back. Sanemi doesn’t like its tone, the little fucker is taunting him. Whatever. Kaburamaru can say whatever the hell he wants. Sanemi doesn’t think he’s ever seen Iguro’s companion with any pretty serpents. Sanemi 1; bitch-ass snake 0.
“Has Shinazugawa been more lenient today?”
“Don’t say it out loud, you’ll curse us all!”
Sanemi’s trainees have forgotten he’s there again. Someone really needs to teach them situational awareness. Not that he’s volunteering. He’ll make them regret not saving their breath in a little bit, he’s busy writing a response to Giyuu’s latest letter. Nobody’s gotten past Himejima-san’s hellish training yet, so he has quite a bit of time on his hands. He’s scratching the underside of Kanzaburou’s beak when the slayers break his peaceful bubble of silence again.
“Hey, Tanjirou, does the Water Hashira really have a small waist? I can’t really imagine it.”
Kamado laughs, “Well-”
“Yeah, he does.”
In unison, his trainees turn to him, unbridled fear in their eyes. Sanemi raises an eyebrow.
“How the hell do you know?” Shouts one of the slayers without a filter.
“I’ve seen it myself. Felt it, even. Got a problem?”
Kamado starts shining. Evidently, Giyuu’s the only person who can be glowy in Sanemi’s presence without pissing him off.
“Shinazugawa-san, is it really true that you’ve felt Giyuu-san’s waist? Giyuu-san was always talking about you, well, as much as he can talk about anyone, so I’m glad that you two have gotten so close! Giyuu-san deserves the world, so you better treat him right! You are treating him right, right? I’m so happy that you and Giyuu-san are in-”
Sanemi cuts Kamado off with a hearty punch to his gut. “Break time’s over!”