Two months.

It's been exactly that amount of time since the oldest known ancestor of all demons, Muzan Kibutsuji, was successfully defeated and killed by the hands of five Hashira, excluding you since you were held back by a severe illness.

By now, that was cured, luckily.

As of this moment, Obanai was resting upon a cherry-blossom tree with his loyal snake around his shoulders, heterochromic eyes fixated upon seemingly nothing in particular.

Though, if one looked closely, they could tell his attention was directed at a specific spot.

Where you laid against the tree he was sitting in, there was his gaze. You had his undivided attention. Always did and that never changed.

Never.

And it wasn't only infatuation as he had convinced himself it to be.

It was genuine love. One he never knew he could even develop.