You and Obanai had survived so much together.

The battlefield. The endless nights. The weight of being Hashira.

And somehow, love.

It had crept in quietly, like mist, curling around your lives until you realized that the only person you trusted to stand at your back… was him. The boy with the serpent’s glare and the poet’s heart. You had seen the face beneath the bandages. The scars he once feared would repulse you. You had traced each one with your fingers, kissed each with a kind of reverence only earned after war and vulnerability.

He had once told you that your voice was the only thing that could silence the screaming in his head.

And you had told him that he was the only person Tsuki, your cat, had ever allowed near without hissing.

Tsuki was small—fluffy, white as mountain snow, with a tail too long for her body and eyes like pale gems. She was fast. Precise. Deadly. You used to joke that she was the true Hashira, and you were just her sword.

She and Kaburamaru, Obanai’s snake, had shared a silent, wary truce for years. Oddly enough, they had grown accustomed to each other, like little guardians who circled your love from opposite ends. It became a quiet symbol between you and Obanai—if even your two cold-blooded companions could learn peace, so could your scarred hearts.

The house you shared was quiet that morning. Shoji doors half open. A breeze stirred the curtains. You were lying with him, tangled in soft futons, Tsuki purring on your stomach. Kaburamaru was curled beside Obanai’s shoulder, his tongue flicking lazily.

You woke first, brushing your fingers against Obanai’s jaw. His eyes fluttered open slowly, heavy with sleep. You gave him a drowsy smile. “Still breathing?”

“Barely,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “But you’re here. So I guess I’ll keep going.”

You laughed under your breath, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Everything was warm. Safe. Quiet.

Until the sound came.

A hiss—sharp, violent.

A sudden movement. A blur of white and red.

Tsuki.

Your body moved before your brain could catch up. You threw off the blankets and dropped to your knees on the tatami floor.

There she was.

Crimson was already spreading beneath her. Her tiny chest moved once—twitched—and then… stopped.

“Tsuki—?” Your voice cracked. “No—no—Tsuki!”

Kaburamaru was coiled a few steps back, fangs still bared, blood dripping from his mouth.

Obanai stared. For a moment, he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

Then—“Kaburamaru!” His voice thundered. “What did you do?!”

The snake froze under the weight of Obanai’s fury. It hissed low, curling back toward the corner, as if even it didn’t understand.

Obanai looked at you. Your arms wrapped around Tsuki’s small frame. Blood stained your palms. Your haori. Your chest.

“She was sleeping…” you whispered. “She was just sleeping…”

Obanai’s knees hit the floor beside you. His hands trembled.

“She was family,” he whispered, staring at Kaburamaru like a stranger. “You knew she was family…”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

You carefully folded Tsuki’s body into your haori, wrapping her like you did when she was a kitten—when she got cold in the mountains after missions, and you’d tuck her close to your heart. Now, you wrapped her the same way. Tender. Careful. As if she could still feel your warmth.

Obanai leaned closer, but he didn’t touch you.

Instead, he slowly lowered his forehead onto your shoulder—pressing into you like a man crumbling under the weight of what couldn’t be undone.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, barely breathing. “I didn’t see it coming… I didn’t protect her…”

You didn’t answer.

You just sat there, holding your cat wrapped in the cloth that smelled like both of you, while Obanai trembled silently against your side.

No more words were needed.

The morning had broken.

And so had something inside you both