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It had been a while since Tomioka had received a letter from his old teacher. Things were calmer now, so it made sense that he had time to reach out, but the few words written had made him unexpectedly anxious.
When you are ready, return to Mount Sagiri. There is something you should see.
-Urokodaki Sakonji
The request itself wasn't strange, despite the fact that Tomioka rarely visited. It was the wording that worried him; the implication that Tomioka might somehow not be prepared for what he would see filled his stomach with a heavy dread. Despite his unease, he made his way out to the mountain, spending most of his travel time worrying that he was going straight towards bad news. The pattern on his haori was nearly gone in a few spots with how hard he had been rubbing his thumb against it. He needed a different bad habit. And he really needed to get out of his head.
Urokodaki had been there to greet him and his anxiousness subsided quickly as his mentor and teacher pulled him into a hug. He sighed against the worn material of Urokodaki’s familiar cloud-patterned clothes and breathed in the mountain air. It was nice to be home.
“Welcome back, Giyuu,” he started, patting Tomioka on the shoulders. “It's good to see you doing well.”
They caught up easily over dinner and Tomioka had almost completely relaxed when Urokodaki suddenly brought up the letter.
“It's great to have you visit but I really did mean what I wrote. There’s something you need to see, something that I hadn't even been aware of myself for a long, long time.” Urokodaki’s rough voice trailed off a little and Tomioka set down his bowl with a frown. The man could be awfully hard to read sometimes.
“You recall the boulders I used in my training?” Tomioka nodded, remembering how long he’d spent out in the woods, forming callouses on his hands and sweating through his clothes. Urokodaki continued. “The one that Tanjirou cut is still out there. You really ought to visit the clearing yourself, just...be prepared.”
Tomioka was still as confused and anxious as ever, but he nodded again. Urokodaki seemed satisfied with his response and stood up, taking their dishes aside before stopping in his tracks. He turned back a little, the eyes of his tengu mask just barely meeting Tomioka’s own.
“And be sure to wear that haori.”
-x-
The last of the winter’s snow was melting into the grass as Tomioka made his way out to the clearing where Urokodaki had told him to go. The physical testament of Tanjirou’s training was still there, the fraying rope starting to sink into the dirt and the paper talismans long gone. Tomioka stepped closer to lay his hand on the rock, brushing his thumb over the lines left by Tanjirou’s sword. It was strange to think back to the day when he had intended to kill Nezuko, and all that had happened since then. They both had grown so much… Those kids really were incredible.
The sudden but quiet rustling of fabric pulled Tomioka out of his reverie and he looked up in the direction of the sound, up and above the cleanly sliced stone. Then he froze.
The fox mask that haunted his dreams was staring him down, framed by a messy array of peach-coloured hair that he swore he still found in his clothes sometimes. The figure leaned over him from atop the boulder until they were nearly nose to nose.
“Giyuu?”
Tomioka stumbled backwards and fell to the ground, trying not to drown in the sea of emotions that was trying to drag him under. It felt like someone was standing on his chest, restricting his breathing to the point of near suffocation. He shouldn’t be seeing this, right? Tomioka had watched this boy run off to his cruel fate with one eye, helpless and small and pathetic and weak. Everyone knew that there was only one child who didn’t survive that year. He had seen the gore on what little had remained, and felt it under his nails as he clutched it in desperation and despair. His stomach roiled and too many thoughts clouded his head. And yet, as the figure dropped down from the boulder, he felt like he wasn't capable of thinking anything at all.
He barely heard the next words spoken from behind the mask. “Is that really you?”
Tomioka bit down on his lip until he tasted blood. His throat felt dry and he really didn't think any words would come out if he tried, so he nodded. The figure that he knew was Sabito—no matter what his logical thoughts told him—encircled him, seemingly looking over every inch to verify his identity. Then, apparently satisfied, he stopped directly in front of Tomioka and reached up towards the red rope around his head.
Tomioka’s mouth felt dry as he watched Sabito untie his mask. He was sweating, as though he feared what he would see. And maybe he did, after all; he had never asked how Sabito had died. He didn't know what to expect. He held his breath.
And then the mask fell and the face he saw was one that cut deep into his bones, down to the marrow to pull forward every hope and yearning he'd ever had.
Sabito wasn't the child from his memories, but the young adult that Tomioka had imagined he would be so, so many times, in fantasies where he had finally confessed (or where Sabito had beaten him to the punch). Or fantasies where the two of them had carried on hunting demons, fighting as a duo in perfect tandem. Fantasies where his grip around his sword felt just a little different with a simple band around his finger.
Tomioka was still holding his breath. He didn't know how to feel, and it hurt. And then his heart ached in a different way when Sabito beamed at him, smiling like the sun.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” said Sabito. His wavering voice betrayed his smile. “Gosh, you really haven't changed a bit.”
He was right, in a way; beyond his longer hair and height, Tomioka’s appearance really hadn't changed much since back then. He dug his nails into his palms and hoped that Sabito wouldn't come close enough to see the damage that years of hating himself had done.
“I knew you were still out there, somewhere, even though I couldn't leave the mountain. It sounds dumb but... I could feel you,” Sabito continued on and pointed at Tomioka’s chest. “You’ve been resonating. Like a drop of water in a pool.”
Then Sabito blinked, as though suddenly seeing clearer. His gaze followed the line of his finger and was trapped on Tomioka’s chest and shoulder. Tomioka saw an expression that Sabito rarely showed when he was alive: surprise.
“Y-Your haori…” his voice came out uneven, and Tomioka’s heart rate spiked. “I...remember. That's all that was left, wasn't it…”
Tomioka finally found his voice. “It's all that was brought back to me,” he said quietly. So he does know that he died. “I...Sabito, you were-”
“You carried it with you? All this time?” Sabito asked, his eyes widening. Tomioka nodded as his hands tightened around the worn-out material. He took a deep breath.
“For some reason I felt like… if I was wearing this, it was like you were standing in my place,” He shied away from Sabito’s gaze, knowing that he would be scolded for what he was about to say but unable to stop himself nonetheless. He was already slipping back into their usual rhythm. “You should have been the water pillar, after all. It was the only thing I could think to do.”
Sabito sighed and gave him a look that Tomioka knew all too well. The sadness and annoyance in Sabito’s eyes was nothing next to the wave of nostalgia that washed over him. His chest felt tight and tears pricked at his eyes as Sabito spoke quietly.
“You still haven’t broken that habit, I guess,” he took a step closer to Tomioka and kneeled down in front of him. Then he did something that Tomioka didn’t even think possible: he reached out and held Tomioka’s face in his hands. The same worn out hands from all those years ago; rough with blisters and scars, but still the most gentle touch in the world. His thumb brushed over the spot where Sabito had hit him, the spot where his mark had rippled into existence. Tomioka’s breath was shaky as he reached up to cover Sabito’s hands with his own. His breath hitched and Sabito pressed their foreheads together, and Tomioka finally broke down.
He pulled Sabito into his arms and sobbed into his shoulder, his vision blurring as tears streamed down his face. The sounds coming from his throat were raw, as though the wounds from that time were opening up again simply to soak him in that pain once more. Sabito returned the gesture just as fiercely and Tomioka felt Sabito’s hands tighten into the back of his uniform, twisting the material in something he knew to be desperation. He choked on his words, wanting to tell Sabito that not a single day had gone by where he hadn't thought of him. That he hadn't forgotten the way Sabito used to look at him. That he would've done anything to have died in his place.
Tomioka sobbed harder, his arms tightening around the only person he'd ever imagined a future with, and was robbed of.
He found himself thinking of his form, a lull between crashing waves, and realized that Sabito might have been the key to it all; every tide of pain and suffering in his early life had been eased by the comforting hand of his dearest friend, and later merely the thought of him presented a buffer. Attacks washed off against a dead calm, one that offered no resistance but stood alongside.
Like an island in the sea. Like Sabito.
He had a hundred questions, and a thousand things he'd wanted to tell Sabito over the years without him, but when he finally opened his mouth to speak, the words ripped from his throat with a sob.
“I’m sorry.”
Sabito pulled back, certainly about to tell him off but Tomioka couldn't stop. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Sabito, I… I left you to die, and I couldn't do anything about it, and I’m so sorry for every year, and- and every single day that I lived in a way that wasn't worthy of the place that was meant for you and I’m sorry I didn't tell you how much I cared about you back when I had the chance and, god- do you want to know the real reason why I wear this haori?”
Sabito tried to speak but no words came out. He looked more upset than Tomioka had ever seen him before and it made him hate himself for what he'd just said. But he wasn't done, and he had to finish this.
“Sabito… Wearing this haori made me feel like your heart was next to mine. Like...your hands were on my shoulders, pushing me forward to be better. It made me feel like your arms were always around me, and that you could carry me through any hardship. If I fell back, you were there to hold me up,” Tomioka said softly, his voice dropping even quieter as he continued. “A reassurance, kind of. Since nothing I faced could ever hurt more than losing you.”
He took a deep breath, and finally looked back at Sabito to see streaks of tears down his face and his expression pained. Tomioka's chest ached.
“Giyuu…” he choked out, his voice thin. “You didn't leave me to die. I made my choices, and you've been beating yourself up over it just because you don't know how else to feel?”
Sabito closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, clearly struggling. “You've carried me all this time, no matter what you fought and no matter the circumstances. That’s- Giyuu, that’s more dedication than most people can offer up in their entire lives,” Sabito raised his hand to slide along Tomioka’s jaw, his gaze softening as Tomioka leaned into his touch. “There's nobody more worthy of your place than yourself.”
A whole new flood of tears came over Tomioka. God, he had missed him.
It felt kind of strange to admit, despite how he literally wore his memories of Sabito on his body every day. But somewhere along the way he stopped being able to allow himself the ability to miss him. Like he somehow wasn’t worthy of carrying that sadness instead of shame.
Tomioka didn’t want to keep making mistakes like that. And in all honesty, he was scared that Sabito might suddenly fade into the fog at any second.
So he pushed his hands into the peach-coloured hair and pulled Sabito into a kiss that had been waiting for almost a decade.
Sabito didn’t hesitate for even a second and returned the kiss, pressing into Tomioka’s form insistently with his arms wrapped tightly around his back. Sabito’s lips were soft and warm and perfect and Tomioka felt like a dam had broken as a flood of affection washed over him. He felt bad for thinking it, considering the situation, but Sabito felt heavenly, in his arms and against his lips and everything and everywhere. In this moment, there was nothing beyond Sabito and the reciprocation of the yearning that he'd carried for years. The weight on his shoulders exchanged for the weight of Sabito against him. He sighed and felt Sabito smile against his lips, and fell in love all over again.
If Tomioka was a lull, then Sabito was the land that cradled it. Solid, and loving. A place to return to.
His home.