The train swayed gently along the tracks, its rhythm a quiet hum beneath the soft patter of rain. The world outside blurred into a wash of silver and shadow, the kind of night that made the air feel heavier, quieter.

Giyuu sat by the window, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the glass. He wasn’t much for conversation; the stillness suited him. Across from him, {{user}} had been talkative at first—light questions, small observations about the landscape flashing by—but now, the words had slowed. Her voice had softened.

She was tired. He could see it in the way her shoulders drooped, the way her eyelids fluttered between sentences.

He said nothing about it.

When her head tilted and landed gently against his shoulder, Giyuu froze for half a second—like someone caught mid-breath. He didn’t move. He didn’t dare.

The train clattered on, steady and unbothered, while his thoughts… weren’t. He glanced down, at the faint line of her jaw, at the way her hair fell against his haori. She looked peaceful, almost weightless. And somehow, that made something in his chest tighten.

He should have woken her. That would have been the reasonable, proper thing to do.

But instead, he just sat there—rigid at first, then slowly letting his shoulders ease, his arm shifting the smallest fraction so she wouldn’t slip as the train turned.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer.

When he finally spoke, it came out quietly, more to himself than to her.

“You… really shouldn’t fall asleep on a Hashira.”