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The sky was clear the night he last saw Sabito.
The stars were glimmering, painting the azure shade sky with its illumination; the grass mirroring its gleam. They look like jewels, Giyuu notes. The sound of leafs rustling and crickets chirping made the night felt peaceful, if not for the fact they were here to slaughter demons, it had felt just like another night, and the air, however numbing, was tolerable as he was warm by Sabito's side.
"The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" Sabito uttered, a little out of breath after he had slayed another demon. Although his tone sounded like usual, Giyuu noticed his face was red. He worried whether the chilly night’s air had finally gotten into him.
Giyuu only shrugged it off, "What are you talking about? There's no moon tonight" he said nonchalantly while walking beside him.
To this Sabito did not reply, his gaze fixed at his blood-bathed katana, as if observing the crimson on the steel, before wiping the blood with his hand—a bad habbit that Giyuu constantly scolds him—then drew back his weapon. Sabito turned his gaze to Giyuu. For a mere second he seemed to want to tell him something, but his voice was cut by the sound of another scream from the other side of the forest. They both rushed to the source spontaneously, running at the top of their lungs, before it all went down.
For a week they were blessed by the merry weather, even during Sabito's funeral. It was a somber one, yet there were hardly any people present, as Sabito was orphaned and wasn’t originally from this village. The sunlight streamed down on Giyuu's flushed cheeks, blinding his already swollen eyes that hasn’t stopped crying. The scent of wisteria flowers lingered in the air, while the wind softly caressed his hair as if in attempt to console him. His mind was strained with guilt, even when his master kept patting his head gentlely, murmuring it wasn’t Giyuu’s fault.
(Giyuu found it no more than empty words)
He lifted up his face upon the sky, it was as clear as that night, with its blue spread as vast as the horizon, and few speckled clouds noticed. He spots a murder of crows flying in flock above him, the color white and black splashing the blue palette thinly.
(It doesn’t seem like it’s going to rain anytime soon.)
If only you were here.
Such weather would be perfect for their training, or to just fool around the forest mountain, chasing after each other and exchanging stories until the sun set. Conveying each of their hopes and dreams, while eating rice balls that Urokodaki made for them.
(Not that they could ever do anything like that again, Sabito was gone, Giyuu reminded himself. It was a fact he still wasn't accustomed to.)
You're wounded, Giyuu, stand back. I'll handle it.
It was the last thing Sabito had said to him before he pushed Giyuu to the ground, knocking him and breaking his fox-shaped mask as he tumbled to the dirt. He tried to reach Sabito, but he can feel his consciousness fading while another boy held his back from running after him. His view was already hazy from the wound on his eye when at the end, all he had only managed to saw was a glimpse of Sabito’s face before all went pitch black.
He recalled Sabito's features of that night clearly, even though shadowed by the night. His skin tan by the sun yet smooth, even with the scar by his mouth. The way he swept his rose-tinted hair away from his face, his fox-shaped mask shone luminously, reflecting the starlight. His expression cautious yet reassuring, and lastly his eyes; lustrous and blue as the blazing fire with his radiance.
He looked heroic that way, and if it weren't for what truly occurred afterwards, Giyuu had thought that he would win, that he had successfully decapitate that demon, just like how he had triumph over every other one. That the next day, he would find him by his side, smiling comfortingly, grinning that he had defeated the demon. That they're both going to pass the selection, that they both could go home soon, that they both could finally fight by each other’s side as demon slayers. The way he would always convince Giyuu whenever his eyes started to dim guilt from the past.
(But alas, that was not the case.)
When Giyuu woke up he wasn't in the forest anymore. He was in an unfamiliar room somewhere he didn’t know, and he did not see Sabito by his side. His body was enveloped in worn out bandages, though he could feel the aching pain still and his blood dripping through his kimono.
He shouted Sabito’s name the moment panic started to penetrates his mind, then heard a couple of footsteps running to his room. He was welcomed by the faces of the other kids who had screamed for help that night—the ones Sabito had saved—sliding open the tatami door. Giyuu was dazzled at first, his panic clear to them but they've managed to calm him down. They said he had passed the Final Selection, since he survived the seven days trial.
"Lies, lies." he mumbled to himself. It was barely the second night when he last saw Sabito hurrying after another cry for help, unsheathed katana gripped firm pointed towards it. Sabito wouldn't let him pass out for that long, he thought. This must have been a mistake.
When he asked where Sabito was, their eyes grew uneasy and their mouths tighten. Giyuu felt a sharp, bitter pang in his heart. They didn't need to tell him, he's already known.
They've said Sabito was the only casualty of this year's selection, and that he had slaughtered every single demon except one, then continued to rescue everyone else but himself. They've said he was a hero. If it weren't for that one demon, he would've made a brilliant name as a demon slayer.
"What a cruel joke," he whispered, before passing out again.
The sun had just begun to set, a dazzling golden plate upon the ombre of warm colors adorning the sky, yet the clouds were gray, echoes of thunder surrounding them. It had been like that for an hour now, but it had not rained, not yet. Although cloudy, the air was feverish and humid, as Giyuu noticed Sabito was sweating more than usual.
Dream of a distant memory.
They were lying side by side without a word on the meadow by the foot of the mountain, the skin by their hands touching—almost intertwined. Away from the house in order to get some fresh air, yet not too far either as it had begun to grow dark, since demons would lurk in the shadows of the night. They have only been disciples for a few weeks after all, generally incapable of guarding themselves from those bloodthirsty monsters.
It was after finishing another training, a rather hard one that entail them to learn another breath of water style. Sabito was the first to succeed while Giyuu stumbled his way through it. Only after Sabito’s guidance that he finally managed as well. Urokodaki decided that it was enough for the day, and to let them have some free time, which were scarce.
The wind blowing brought a refreshing cool air, the scent of fresh prairie grass stirring with sweet fragrance of wild flowers blossoming around them. It was spring after all, the start anew cycle of seasons, blooming newborn beauty into the world.
“My mom used to say that spring was the mother of all seasons, giving birth to new plants after they died during the winter, so we must cherish them.” Sabito remarked, as if having read his mind, thus breaking the silence between them. “She’d water the plants every morning and evening, even the wild flowers across the yard.”
Giyuu turned his gaze to Sabito, who was still peering at the setting dusk. “Your mom sounded nice.” He smiled, while attempting to recall what his mother was like, but the fragments were too faint to gather. “I didn’t remember my mom. My sister raised me all by herself.”
(She was the bravest person he met, but he did not say that.)
“What was she like?”
“She was kind, caring—” Giyuu gulped, unsure whether to open past wounds.
Sabito seemed to notice the uncertainty in his voice, and clasped Giyuu’s hand, as if in an attempt to ease him, his eyes now warily observing his expression. “My mom was too, I miss her.” He said, though Giyuu didn’t need to ask further, he knew how the story ended.
His father was turned into a demon, devouring his entire family while Sabito was out playing. When he came back the house was surrounded by the stench of blood, claw marks disfiguring the tapestries, plates thrown to pieces scattering the wooden floor, the flowers his mother cared so much trampled and tattered, and lastly, his father was on top of his mother—
He shook his head, it felt unfair for Sabito to share snippets of his past and yet for him to knew nothing of his.
“My sister was brave,” he said finally, before pausing for a bit. “She was supposed to get married, but a demon broke in to our house.” He can hear his voice quivered as he continues, “She hid me inside the cupboard. I still remember how her tears felt wet and dripped to my face as she smiled sadly, before running after the demon with only a kitchen knife on her hand.” Giyuu snuffled, he hadn’t realized he had already been crying.
Sabito’s eyes went wide by the sudden exposition of Giyuu’s past. Then, as he noticed his sorrowful eyes, he braced Giyuu with his hands, which he gratefully accepts as he sobbed convulsively. His nose nuzzled Sabito’s, grazing each other’s touch. It felt warm. While his hand patted Giyuu’s back as he tenderly stroked his hair, which to his surprise, offered him solace.
“I couldn’t stop thinking if—if I was the one protecting her instead—she was supposed to get married the day after—“ Giyuu murmured, unsure if his words was perceptible as his breath was cut short each time, his voice timid. His face now buried on Sabito’s shoulder, although rather stiff, felt like home, just like how he used to hug his sister back then.
“No, don’t ever say that.” Sabito said, his tone unfaltering. But Giyuu wondered if his shoulder was wet from Sabito’s tears, his head buried on Giyuu’s shoulder too now. He could feel Sabito’s warm, steady breaths shivering his neck. “If you were dead—then I wouldn’t have met you.” His voice trembled, faint and unclear.
(But Giyuu wondered whether that he had imagined that or not.)
After the funeral, Giyuu did not come out of his room for another week. Following the ceremony, Urokodaki did not try to comfort him furthermore, but he did not blame him. He was also grieving. Giyuu knew Sabito wasn’t the first apprentice of his to die. His master only left him his meals day after day, which he would always find untouched by the end of the night.
Giyuu lied awake during day and night, unable to sleep, afraid to be awoken by visions of Sabito dying, of the horrors Sabito felt when he knew he was going to die as his face all but turned white with fear. Of Sabito's lifeless body devoured by the demon, of Sabito's desolate tomb that's only marked by a stone, somewhere in the mist covered mountain.
(But worse of all nightmares, is the dreams of Sabito alive)
Dreams of chatting with him as if nothing had happened, practicing breath of water forms or swordmanships, eating dinner together with weary limbs and bruised body, beaming at Giyuu the moment he had mastered another fighting technique. He’d always woke up from those dreams the worse, at first unable to grasp reality, longing to call his friend but only to be hit by realization and then the tears shed with no control.
Yet he was unable to muster the will to get up as well, there's no point anymore. He had lost his friend, he had lost another who was dear to him, another who sacrificed their life for him, himself, who was weak and not worth of anything, least of all their lives.
(He should have been the one who had died instead.)
His chest was hollow, his gaze empty, his limbs were frail as he had not eaten for days yet couldn’t discover the appetite to. The sound of cricket was the only thing accompanying him now that there's no Sabito's laughter to be heard. Yet despite the emptiness inside him, his emotions were overflowing and he finds himself gasping for breath as he stood.
He wanted to puke, he felt sick. He wanted to pour all his emotions, his grief, his despair, his hysteria out and drain it somewhere else so he won't feel anymore pain. He wanted to shut his heart in a box and close the lid so tight to stop it from hurting. His chest was throbbing for a wound that wasn’t there, he wants to gouge his own eyeballs at the view of Sabito's remains.
They've only managed to found bits of his head, crushed with his brain all over the scene, his rosy hair splattered crimson by his own blood, bits of someone who was once a bright boy, bits of someone who was once his friend, bits of someone who once he loved. Now only pieces of corpse consumed by maggots six feet under the ground.
(While the rest of his body was in the demon's stomach, eaten, just another meal for it.)
Memories came flashing; memories of Sabito helping him to stand up whenever he stumbled down, of Sabito's carefree jokes and snarky remarks—yet is the most reliable when needed, of Sabito guiding him to use his katana properly, of Sabito's eyes sparkling as he talked about his goals. Memories of Sabito flawlessly mastering another ability yet was never cocky about it—always was sure to lend him a hand—and of Sabito scolding him whenever he felt worthless, reminding him how much he meant to him. Giyuu whimpered. He was a coward, a fool, he wasn't Sabito who would puffed out his chest with pride and valor. The very same things that got him killed in the first place. Sabito was too compassionate, too courageous, too selfless.
(And Giyuu could never be any of those things.)
He wanted to die, but the thought of slitting his stomach with his own katana drove him nauseous, nor the sound of his neck breaking if he'd hung himself, nor the endless water and deep never-ending void surrounding him if he'd drowned himself.
So he had only wept, swimming inside the painful throb of grief, his tears flooding through his cheek, trickling through the fabric of his unwashed worn clothes, and through the crippled sheets underneath. He would wept from dawn to dusk, turned oblivious from his surrounding—the reality—with no evidence left to track except the dampened bed and the quiet sobbing that escaped his throat unrestrained. He would wept until there were no more tears left to cry and till his eyes grew dry and itchy and sore, he would wept until the nights that have yet to come.
And perhaps, until the moment he heard the loud knocks by the breezy wind of spring.