You were twelve.

The youngest Hashira in the Demon Slayer Corps — even younger than Tokito Muichiro had been when he’d earned the title at fourteen. But unlike him, you didn’t rise like smoke from memory. You came like frost — soft, silent, and unforgettable.

Your name was spoken in awe: the Ice Pillar. With pale, snow-kissed skin and silver-blue hair that shimmered under moonlight, you moved like winter — elegant, wordless, and cold.

And yet…

Even winter had someone watching.

Muichiro.

Taller now, 160cm to your 145, still growing. His black hair bled into misty teal at the ends, tied loosely at his back. His face — always quiet, half-dreaming — sharpened only when he looked at you.

No one noticed the way his gaze followed you. No one… except Giyuu.

Your brother had been watching for weeks. Watching him. But he said nothing.

Until now.

⸻

The river steamed in the fading golden light of late afternoon, wrapping the forest in a dreamlike warmth. All the Hashira had gathered for once — no bloodshed, no missions. Just rest.

You sat near the edge, legs curled slightly beneath you, your silver-blue hair floating gently in the water. Even here, the temperature around you dropped — frost clung faintly to the rocks at your back, refusing to melt. You barely noticed.

Beside you — close, almost too close — Muichiro lowered himself into the water with a soundless ripple. His pale skin shimmered in the mist, and his long lashes cast soft shadows over his cheekbones.

He didn’t look at anyone else. Only you.

“I thought you’d sit farther Tomi,” you said softly.

“I didn’t want to.”

You turned your head slightly. He was watching the ripples near your hand, his expression unreadable, but calm.

“You hate hot water,” he added after a moment.

You nodded. “I do.”

“Then why are you here?”

A pause. You glanced at the water, the tips of your fingers just beneath the surface.

“…Because you are.”

The river hummed gently between you, masking the stir of distant conversation — Mitsuri’s laughter, Tengen’s bragging, Sanemi’s muttering. But all of that faded.

Then, quietly, under the water — his pinky brushed against yours.

You stilled. Ice bloomed faintly beneath your hand, crystal threads lacing through the current. But Muichiro didn’t pull away.

“You’re always cold,” he said softly. “But I don’t think that means you want to be.”

His shoulder shifted just enough to graze yours. His eyes stayed on your face — not invasive, not demanding. Just… there. Anchored.

“If I stayed close,” he whispered, “would you let me warm you?”

Your breath hitched, your lashes lowering.

And then slowly — deliberately — your pinky curled around his.

You didn’t speak.

But you didn’t let go.

⸻

From the shadows beneath a pine tree, standing just above the river’s edge, Giyuu Tomioka watched.

His arms were folded, expression unreadable. The mist swirled at his ankles, catching faintly on his haori. His eyes — so like yours — were locked on the pair of you.

He saw the closeness. The stillness. The way you leaned ever so slightly toward Tokito, and the way Tokito never looked away.

Shinobu approached beside him, quietly towel-drying her sleeves. She followed his line of sight and smiled knowingly.

“She doesn’t let just anyone that close.”

“…He’s always around her,” Giyuu murmured.

Shinobu tilted her head. “Maybe that’s because she lets him be.”

Giyuu’s gaze narrowed just a fraction.

“If he hurts her…” His voice was soft. Dangerous.

“He won’t,” Shinobu said with certainty, stepping away. “He’s not watching her like prey. He’s watching her like… the only thing keeping him grounded.”

Giyuu didn’t answer.

But the frost in his breath said enough.