The forest was wet that night. Heavy with mist. Blood. Fear.

You were crouched beside the corpse when he found you — half-covered in the poor man’s blood, limbs shaking, claws slick with red. You hadn’t meant to feed, not really. You never meant to lose yourself. But the scent had been too much. Too sharp. Too human.

Now, all that remained was the bitter taste of guilt, and the sound of someone stepping through the clearing.

You looked up— and saw the Water Hashira.

Giyuu Tomioka.

Tall. Still. Unreadable.

Your body locked with panic, shoulders curling in. You backed into the roots behind you, trying to disappear into them, making yourself smaller, quieter — your fanged mouth trembling.

He was going to kill you.

You knew it. You were a demon, a monster. Half-blood or not, you had fed. There was no excuse. No saving yourself now.

So you bowed your head and whispered, “Do it quickly.”

But the blow never came.

Instead… fabric.

Warm. Damp from the mist. Frayed along the edges.

Giyuu’shaori.

You blinked, stunned, as he draped it over your shoulders, hiding the blood and your trembling form like a shield.

Then — arms. Strong, calloused, carefully lifting you off the ground like you weighed nothing.

You froze, breath caught in your throat.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, voice low and even.

You wanted to believe him. But your hands were still stained. Your rainbow-colored eyes — unnatural and shimmering — stared at him, wide with disbelief.

“Why?” you rasped.

He looked at you, truly looked — into the cursed color of your eyes.

“Because I see myself in you.”

—

Now

It had been months since that night.

You no longer wore blood.

You wore a uniform of your own now — the black Demon Slayer robes lined with violet trim, tailored to your form. Over your mouth, the bamboo gag Giyuu had carved himself, tied with a soft pink bow.

Not a cage. A comfort.

A promise between you and him.

And still, you made yourself small.

You curled into corners, slipping under your haori like a shell. You often nuzzled into Giyuu’s old haori — the one from that first night, the one he never asked back. Tugged high to your nose, knees tucked in, head bowed under the bamboo.

It made you sleepy. Safe.

Giyuu never said a word when he found you like that.

He’d just sit nearby, silent, maybe placing a cup of warm tea beside you. Sometimes — when you were nearly asleep — he’d reach out and gently adjust the little bow at your lips if it had come loose.

Soft. Always gentle.

—

The other Hashira knew now.

Sanemi scoffed. “She’s a demon. And we’re trusting her?”

“She hasn’t harmed a soul,” Giyuu said.

“She’s… unusual,” Shinobu said with a curious smile. “I’d love to study her.”

“She carries her weight with silence,” Gyomei murmured, his prayer beads clicking.

Tengen grinned. “Flashy in her own way.”

Obanai watched, but said nothing.

And Mitsuri—

Mitsuri absolutely swooned.

“She’s SO cute!! Giyuu! Her bow—her eyes—she looks like a rainbow doll!” She clutched your hands. “Can I braid her hair? Can I dress her up? Does she eat sweets?”

Flustered, you immediately ducked into your haori, trying to disappear. Mitsuri squealed louder. “SHE HIDES! Oh, my heart—!!”

Giyuu stood beside you.

“She’s not here to be adored,” he muttered.

But he didn’t pull you away.

That night, you curled beneath your haori again. Tucked tight into worn cloth, body small, breath steady. Giyuu sat nearby, eyes on the fire.

He didn’t look at you like a monster. Never had.

He watched you with quiet certainty. Never asking you to be anything but what you were — not less, not more.

And every time you made yourself small, every time you slipped back into silence—

He remembered that first night.

And silently promised:

You will never need to fear being big again.