boo!

So you usually smiled to the insect hashira whenever she visibly frowned at your clearly have-been-waiting-too-long-to-get-checked infected wounds. You smiled, because you liked being at her estate. The sunny rooms, always filled with the girls’ laughter even as other injured slayers were recovering, the beautiful garden that always smelled like orange blossoms, the flavor of whatever Aoi felt like cooking.

It felt pleasant, comfortable, homely.

Bumps and bruises were a price you didn’t mind paying if it meant to be taken care of for a little while. If it meant to be in a place you could have so easily called home.

Not that you would ever voice such foolish, lowkey self-destructive thoughts. You kept your enjoyment to yourself, helped around the estate any way you could, brushing off with a smile the appalled protests of the girls. So what if you were a pillar? Your life was mostly made of fights, blood, pain and training. You figured you could indulge in normal stuff from time to time.

Sure, you weren’t the greatest cook and Aoi had to call Shinobu a couple of times after you almost cut your own fingers off while chopping onions, sure, you weren’t amazing with laundry either, but it was fun. It was normal. It felt good.

You felt so comfortable around Shinobu that you knew you didn’t have to wait for a demon to slash you open to have a reason to visit. Even if she wasn’t around, you were always welcome at the estate. However, is she was around, she was always happy to offer you tea, fresh fruit and peaceful company.

You appreciated how she didn’t flinch when she looked up from the letter she was reading.

“Are you alright?”, was her balanced greeting, letter put away on the engawa as she stood up.

You faked a smile.

“Yes. I was wondering if you could… give me a hand?”

Shinobu blinked just two times, then her hand motioned you the engawa.

“Of course. I’ll be back, why don’t you take a seat? Aoi just brewed some tea”, her smile was warm but you didn’t fail to take notice of her ever so slightly furrowed brows, an almost invisible wrinkle on her forehead.

You thanked her and watched her disappear behind the shoji door that led to her office.

The engawa was warm from the sun and it gave you a perfect view of the well-kept garden. You took a deep breath and repeated to yourself just how calm you were. It was fine. Everything was perfectly okay. Not a tragedy.

“Why the fuck do you look like that?”, a loud, mocking voice behind you roared with laughter. You didn’t turn around or wince, of course you heard him coming. Of course it had to be him, there, of all places. Not ideal, but you could handle it.

“Good to see you too, Shinazugawa”, was your sarcastic response.

He was in front of you before you could even hope to escape that bloodshot gaze.

“Shit, it’s even worse from the front”, he grinned.

I’ll handle it. He pisses me off but I’ll handle it.

“Did I somehow give the impression that I enjoy your company? If so, apologies. You can leave now”, you forced your lips into a smile.

God, he hated when you did that. He hated that fake, honey and venom infused voice. If someone told him that that was how you fought demons, by exasperating them, he would’ve believed them. Shinobu had a similar way of speaking but she simply didn’t infuriate him as much as you did.

“You look like shit”, he spat, amused smile long gone from his sharp-edged features.

That was how it usually went down. Sarcastic slash annoying remark met with an even more annoying sarcasm met, in turn, with an insult. Why he even bothered interacting with you, neither of you were able to understand.

“Likewise. Don’t you have a broken leg? Dislocated shoulder? Anything that should keep you in a futon, preferably one located very far away from me?”, you asked ever so sweetly, making a vein in his temple throb.

“Let it go, Shinazugawa-san”, Shinobu was back, standing behind you, smiling gently at the fuming man in front of you.

He looked at the scissors in her hand and couldn’t hold back another laugh.

“Don’t bother, Kocho, I think that’s the right look for her. Now not only she acts like a man but looks like one, too”, a poisonous smile found its way to his lips.

And that’s what got you. Incredibly, absurdly, considering all the insults he was known to come up with. That one stang.

Was it because his words were so painfully similar to your father’s? Was it because, hearing it from him, made it a little more real? Sanemi didn’t lie. He was unpleasant, crude, aggressive, but he wasn’t a liar. So it just had to be real. And why did it bother you so much, that it was? Why did it bother you so bad, that he had noticed, too?

You got up abruply and he got defensive in the blink of an eye, bracing himself even if the wound Shinobu had stitched a few minutes before was giving him hell. You two were sparring partners, after all. Your style was so similar that, distaste for each other or not, it was easier to train together. Plus, it gave you a reason to kick him in the stomach at least once per session. Plus, it gave him a reason to be around you without being unreasonably pissed about it.

“Shinobu, I’ll be back in a moment”, you told her.

“I’ll be here”, she replied, not smiling anymore, her eyes one step away from shooting daggers at Sanemi. She instantly made a mental note to add a generous amount of the most bitter gentiana lutea to his next medicinal tea.

You didn’t look at him as you took a running jump, disappearing in an instant with one of your favorite destinations in mind: the roof.

The estate was just beautiful all around. Below, there was sweet chatter, flowers and good food. Above, there was peaceful silence, dark tiles the sun had warmed up nicely enough to make you want to lie down and close your eyes.

Which, you did. Your nichirin blade beside you as you pushed back some of the irregular strands that had fallen to your face and laid with your eyes shut, doing your best not to do something dumb and embarrassing and definitely very inappropriate like crying.

Alright, fine, you could allow a tear or two.

You angrily wiped them without opening your eyes, teeth gritted, left hand clenched into a fist that had your knuckles white, nails digging into your palm. It wasn’t Sanemi, it could’t be. You refused to give him such a power over you. It was just that you managed to hold it in for hours, not wanting to give your father the satisfaction of seeing you cry. It was easier to let go at the Butterfly Estate, anyway. Always had been. It was easier to be vulnerable, when surrounded by people who actually cared.

And by infuriating assholes too, apparently.

You held back a groan when you suddenly heard him beside you, appearing out of thin hair. He was getting better at being faster, soundless.

“Leave”, you grumbled, not bothering to open your eyes.

“Oi, the fuck’s the matter?”, his voice was just as harsh but he wasn’t having a blast anymore. You knew exactly what that rare inflection meant: he was serious. No teasing, no making fun, he was seriously asking you and was waiting for a serious response which, of course, seriously freaked you out because being vulnerable? In front of him, of all people? Yeah, nuh-uh.

“Nothing. Can you go?”

“This is my spot, you go”.

You scoffed, opening your eyes and sitting up in a second.

“Excuse me?”

Malicious grin was back on his lips as he shrugged.

“I like this roof and I often come up here. If someone needs to leave, it’s you”.

Your eyebrow twitched at the sheer absurdity of the conversation.

“God, what is it? Asshole day?”, you grumbled, grabbing your nichirin and gathering the strength to get up, go back to Shinobu, ask her to stab you with those scissors and call it a day.

“But if you wanna tell me what’s up”, he added, already sitting next to you (although at reasonable distance), eyes conveniently focused on the garden below, “I’ll listen”.

Maybe it was that he wasn’t looking at you, nor he seemed interested in focusing his attention on your face. Maybe it also was that you didn’t mind his kind yet still rough moments. He did have them, sometimes. When he thought that no one was around to see or hear. Not that he was good, at being kind, by any means.

You remembered laying in your futon, left arm broken, ribs crushed, eyes closed, trying your best to fall asleep. You had heard Naho cry over a broken bowl and a piece that had cut her hand. He was there, awake, barely standing after a particularly rough mission, bandages all over, yet not hesitating. Sure, the first thing he told her was to shut the fuck up, but when that only managed to make her cry harder, you heard his hushed voice.

Lemme see. It’s nothing, I’ll give you some of my bandages, alright? Just stop. See? All good now. Won’t even leave a scar, I’m an expert.

Much like back then, he was trying. And although he had been an insufferabe asshole, you appreciated the effort.

“My father cut it. With my sword”, you muttered, not looking at him either.

“Why?”

You sighed, breath shaky once again.

“He doesn’t appreciate what I do. Said if I want to be a man so badly, I might as well look like one”.

Sanemi turned to look at you, unable to hide the surprise in his eyes.

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

You returned his gaze with a sarcastic smile.

“Well, don’t you believe the same thing? I’m a man. Because I’m a slayer, according to my father. According to you, I’m not sure what is it. Is it that I don’t look like Mitsuri? Or that I don’t spend enough time with other girls? Is it my face? I know it wasn’t my hair. That’s why I liked it long”.

God, were you crying again? You just knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

But Sanemi was too taken aback, too astonished, too enraged. With your father, of course. It wouldn’t have made sense to be so intensely angry with… himself? And for what? A few tasteless jokes, some teasing, a provocative behavior you were tough enough to keep up with? Because you were. Tough enough, strong enough to always keep up with him. And it never really crossed his mind that you were less of a woman because of that. Yeah, he had said something dumb and absolutely false, but didn’the always? Didn’t you know?

“We live in a world haunted by demons and your father believes that the real issue is you holding a goddamn blade?”, he snapped.

You shrugged, wiping away some stubborn tears with the sleeve of your haori.

“Apparently, it’s not my place to fight. We have men for that. Don’t we always have men for everything?”, you muttered angrily.

“A woman who fights is no man. She’s just a woman, with a blade”.

Finally, you found it in yourself to look at him. His looked flustered, face red, fists closed. It was comforting, in some way, getting a reaction so similar to the one you had whenever your father opened his mouth.

“Not all women with a blade look like Mitsuri”, you said slowly.

He met your gaze, jaw clenched.

“They don’t have to”, he spat, “not all men with a blade look like me, either”.

Your laugh was so loud, so unexpected, that it surprised the both of you. It filled him with relief, his subconscious already hopeful that you had forgiven him for his reckless words.

“Right. Luckily, they usually look like Uzui instead”, you grinned and Sanemi furrowed his brows.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, he’s less scary. Nice to be around. Should I go on?”

He snorted.

“He has three wives and flirts with anything that moves, is that your idea of nice?”

You smiled again, a little more sadly this time. Sanemi noticed and hated it. He hated every smile that failed to reach your eyes.

“I’ve met his wives. They’re kunoichi. I know he doesn’t think of them as men”, your laugh was bitter, in contrast with your previous one. He didn’t like that either.

“What, you’re worried you won’t find a man?”, there it was, the old, familiar, mocking tone. You welcomed it with a patient smile.

“Well, my father is quite scared something irreversible is going to happen eventually. A scar on my face, one of my legs being cut off, you know, the usual”.

Sanemi rolled his eyes.

“I’ve got plenty of scars and I’ve been with just enough women”.

Your frown was intentionally exaggerated.

“Gross. And you’re missing the point, Shinazugawa. Scars on men scream strong, scars on women scream weak and no one would ever want to marry that”.

He wasn’t sure how the conversation had shifted so suddenly over a subject so awkward but he was so caught up in the heat of the moment that he impulsively snapped, like he always did when he had no goddamn clue what to say.

“What a fucking headache you’re being. I’ll marry you, that’ll shut your asshole father up”.

Your eyes widened so suddenly that he would’ve found it amusing, hadn't he been too busy being paralyzed from the shock of his brain putting together the worst, most inappropriate sequence of words he could ever think of.

What the fuck.

You really wanted to laugh at how red his ears had become but you felt yourself blush as well.

What the fuck.

“Is that a threat?”, you muttered, lips distorted in an embarrassed smile.

Please take the hint. Please deflect.

“Get Kocho to fix that shit, you look ridiculous”, he spat, attention once again stubbornly focused on the garden.

You secured your sword to your belt and got up, stretching your arms above your head.