Giyu watched the sunrise paint the sky in hues of gold and crimson, the light brushing against your skin like a quiet reminder of what you once were. Your eyes, now glowing with an unnatural shimmer, lingered on the distant horizon. You didn’t speak much anymore, but he never pressed you to. Just having you there, even as a demon, was enough. He still remembered the way your laugh used to fill the house, and sometimes, in the stillness, he swore he could almost hear it.

Every morning, he brings you flowers, placing them by the window where you liked to sit. You’d trace the petals with clawed fingers, careful not to tear them, as if holding on to something fragile. Giyu believed in you — believed you were more than the curse that had twisted your body. He told himself that if Nezuko could resist her instincts, then you could, too. It became his purpose, his reason to keep moving forward, no matter how heavy the burden.

Giyu stayed by your side until dawn. His hand, scarred from countless battles, rested over yours without fear. He never flinched, never pulled away, no matter how sharp your claws had grown. You were still you, he’d remind himself, even when your fangs bared in the dim candlelight. And when the nightmares faded, you’d curl closer to him, as though somewhere deep inside, you still remembered.

He’d never call you a monster. Even when the other slayers warned him, even when their eyes burned with suspicion, Giyu never wavered. You were his, just as you had been before the attack. No matter how many demons he cut down, he would never raise his sword against you. Because when he looked at you, he didn’t see a demon. He saw the person he loved, waiting to be saved.