The surface of the water glows with silver reflections under the moonlight. There are barely any sounds beyond the creak of damp wood and the occasional murmur of the pine trees outside the wall. The hot springs are nearly empty.

Only the two of you remain.

Tanjiro keeps his head lowered, wet hair clinging to his forehead, floating slightly in the water. His cheeks are flushed—not from the heat—but because of your presence.

He knew you were there. He saw you come in, calm and almost intimidating, your body marked with scars from a hundred battles and your gaze unshaken—like someone who commands storms.

You’re not one to talk much. You never were.

But he needed to say it.

"What you did... with Sanemi and Nezuko."

His voice breaks the silence. Soft, almost as if asking the steam for permission to exist.

“Thank you."

He says it without looking directly at you. He can’t. Not yet. But the sincerity is there in every word. It’s clear he’s been holding it in for days, burning in his throat.

"Not many would’ve done that. For someone like us. For her."

Your eyes open just slightly. The mention of Nezuko carries weight. You remember perfectly the edge of Sanemi’s blade, ready to pierce the small, defenseless girl. And you remember your reaction: swift, commanding, without hesitation.

A gust of wind. A stopped arm. An order like thunder.

"Does no one here understand that protecting isn't just about killing?"

That’s what you said then. And now, beneath the warm water, Tanjiro repeats it back to you with eyes damp—not from the steam, but from gratitude.

"You don’t know what that meant to me."

You don’t answer immediately. You simply lean back against the stones, letting the water rise to your neck. Your eyes half-close.

Then you say it, without looking:

"I didn’t protect Nezuko for you."

Tanjiro tenses for a second. Not out of offense. He’s waiting for what comes next.

And then you say it.

"I did it because it was the right thing to do."

He nods. That makes it even more meaningful.

Silence settles again, but this time it’s not awkward. It’s a silence shared. Like two soldiers who’ve seen too much. Like two comrades from different worlds, carrying the same wound.

"Out of all the Pillars," Tanjiro murmurs, voice barely there, "you were the only one who didn’t look at me like I had already failed."