Chapter Text
The morning sun slanted through the windows of Muichiro's small cottage, casting soft golden light across the wooden floor. The birds outside were already awake, their chirping filtering through the slightly open window, but Muichiro remained in bed, curled beneath his blankets. Even after all these years, waking up still felt like a chore.
His body was well-rested, but his mind? That was a different story. Some days, it felt like he hadn't had a full night's sleep in years.
With a quiet groan, he rolled onto his side, burying his face into the pillow. He could already tell, it was going to be one of those days. Days where exhaustion clung to him like a second skin, where his thoughts drifted too easily to the past. He let out a sigh, staring at the wooden beams of his ceiling.
But staying in bed wasn't an option. It never was.
With a slow, reluctant motion, he shoved back the blankets and forced himself to sit up. His long hair tumbled down his shoulders in a mess of tangled strands, and he ran a hand through it, debating if he should just cut it off. It was getting annoyingly long again, the weight of it more noticeable when he trained. But... he kind of liked it, too.
Maybe another day.
Pushing himself to his feet, he grabbed his black Hashira uniform from the chair by his bedside. He had no real reason to wear it anymore, not since demons had been eradicated two and a half years ago, but it had become part of him, just like his katana, just like the memories of those who were no longer here.
He still vowed to protect those around him. Even if the world no longer needed Hashira, he wasn't going to abandon the strength he'd gained.
After slipping into the uniform, he walked to a small mirror propped up against the wall and pulled his hair into a high ponytail, tying it with practiced ease. That was when something caught his eye. Giyuu's haori, draped over the back of the wooden chair near his dining table.
For a moment, he just stood there, staring at it.
The once burgundy fabric had faded slightly over the years, the yellow and green half showing signs of wear. A few small patches had been sewn into the sleeves, Tanjiro and Nezuko's handiwork. But despite its tattered state, it still carried the warmth of the man who had once worn it.
Muichiro walked over and picked it up, running his fingers over the familiar texture. Without hesitation, he swung it over his shoulders, letting the fabric settle over his uniform.
He always felt closer to Giyuu when he wore it.
And today, of all days, he wanted to feel that warmth.
With that, he grabbed his katana, sheathed it at his hip, and stepped outside.
The village was already lively when he arrived, filled with the sounds of merchants setting up their stalls and children playing in the dirt roads. The air smelled of freshly baked bread and morning dew, and Muichiro found himself inhaling deeply, appreciating the peaceful atmosphere.
It was strange, sometimes, walking through a world untouched by demons. A world where people laughed freely, where homes no longer had to be fortified against nightfall. He wished Giyuu had lived long enough to see it.
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Mui!"
He turned just in time to see Tanjiro jogging toward him, a bright smile on his face. Behind him, Nezuko was playing hopscotch with a group of village kids, her laughter ringing through the air like bells.
Muichiro's lips twitched upward.
"Tanjiro." He greeted his friend with a small nod as the brunette reached him.
Tanjiro's eyes immediately landed on the haori draped over Muichiro's shoulders, and a warm expression crossed his face. "Giyuu-san's haori needs another patch job," he noted, reaching out to brush his fingers over a new tear in the sleeve.
Muichiro glanced down and huffed a quiet laugh. "It does, doesn't it?"
Nezuko, having overheard, bounded over with a bright smile. "I'd be happy to repair it for you again sometime!" she offered. Then, as if just remembering something, her face lit up even more. "Oh! And happy birthday, by the way!"
Muichiro blinked.
"...Huh?"
Tanjiro let out a laugh, clapping a hand on Muichiro's shoulder. "Don't tell me you forgot again."
A faint flush of pink dusted Muichiro's cheeks. He had forgotten. Again.
He was never one to celebrate his birthday. Most years, he preferred to let it pass by unnoticed, avoiding any fuss. But Nezuko had always been too perceptive for that.
"...Thanks, Nezuko," he said after a pause, dipping his head slightly. "Both for the birthday wishes and for the offer to repair my haori."
Nezuko beamed. "It's no problem, really!"
Just then, a loud, exaggerated gasp cut through the conversation.
"Oi! Are you flirting with my girl again, Tokito?!"
Muichiro sighed before he even turned to face the source of the voice.
Zenitsu stood beside Nezuko, arms crossed, golden eyes narrowed with exaggerated suspicion. He placed a protective arm around her shoulders, pointing an accusatory finger at Muichiro.
Muichiro, who was very used to Zenitsu's antics, simply stared at him blankly. "...I was thanking her."
Zenitsu squinted harder. "Sure you were."
Nezuko giggled and playfully shoved Zenitsu. "Stop being ridiculous."
Zenitsu huffed but backed down, though he still kept his arm around Nezuko as if shielding her from a potential suitor. Muichiro didn't even bother responding.
Nezuko smiled at Muichiro. "Do you have any plans for today?"
Muichiro thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Probably hiding in my cottage to avoid Mitsuri's obsessive doting. She'll want to cook me birthday dinner again."
Nezuko giggled, while Tanjiro grinned. "She just cares about you," Nezuko said. "You're like family to her, you know."
Muichiro knew that. He really did. Ever since Mitsuri had married Obanai, she had taken it upon herself to look after him like an older sister, cooking for him without asking, inviting him over for tea, even insisting he join them for holidays. He appreciated it, but he never quite knew how to respond to it, either.
Instead, he turned back to Tanjiro. "I should probably head off. I need to go see Shinazugawa."
Tanjiro's expression brightened. "I'll come with you!" He turned to say his goodbyes to the village kids and Nezuko before falling into step beside Muichiro.
As they walked, Tanjiro let out a contented sigh, glancing up at the sky. "Isn't the weather nice today? The sky is beautiful."
Muichiro followed his gaze. The sky stretched above them in an endless expanse of soft blue, wispy clouds drifting lazily across it.
"...Yeah," he murmured, his voice softer. "It is."
For a long time, he had lived in a world drained of color, dulled by grief and loss. But he had worked, slowly, steadily, to bring the color back.
It hadn't been easy.
Separating the part of himself that was once a Hashira from the part of himself that was simply Muichiro had been a struggle. But in time, he had learned to accept both sides of himself. To embrace who he was, rather than who he thought he needed to be.
Just like Giyuu had always done with him.
By the time Muichiro and Tanjiro arrived at Shinazugawa's farm, the midday sun hung high in the sky, casting warm golden light over the vast fields of wheat and rice. The landscape stretched endlessly, a sea of green and gold swaying with the breeze. The scent of fresh earth mixed with the faintest traces of wood smoke, likely from Sanemi's fireplace, and in the distance, the rhythmic creak of a waterwheel punctuated the quiet.
The farmhouse itself was modest but sturdy, built of dark timber that had weathered years of rain and wind. A simple wooden fence enclosed the property, its posts slightly worn but still standing firm. Chickens pecked at the dirt near the barn, and a few goats lazed in the sun, their tails flicking idly. It was a far cry from the battlefields Sanemi had once known, but in its own way, it suited him.
Sanemi Shinazugawa stood at the edge of one of the fields, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he surveyed the crops. His silver-white hair, streaked with strands of wheat-blond from sun exposure, was messily slicked back, though a few unruly strands stuck to his forehead. His muscular arms were dusted with dirt, and a half smoked cigarette rested between his fingers, its ember glowing faintly in the daylight. Though his days of demon slaying were long behind him, the sharpness in his gaze had never dulled.
As soon as he caught sight of them approaching, his expression twisted into something between annoyance and begrudging acknowledgment.
"Took you brats long enough," he grumbled, tossing the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out with the heel of his boot.
Tanjiro grinned, entirely unfazed by the greeting. "Good to see you too, Shinazugawa."
Sanemi grunted, arms crossing over his chest. His sharp eyes flickered toward Muichiro, and though his scowl remained, something in his expression softened, just slightly.
"So," Sanemi drawled, tilting his head, "eighteen now, huh?"
Muichiro blinked.
Right. Today was his birthday. He still wasn't used to hearing it aloud.
He tilted his head slightly. "You remembered?"
Sanemi scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Of course I remembered. What kind of brother would I be if I didn't?"
Muichiro hesitated. The word brother lingered in the air for a moment before settling into something warm in his chest. He had no living blood relatives, not anymore, but somewhere along the way, Sanemi had begun referring to him as family. It wasn't something they ever talked about outright, it had just happened, as naturally as the changing of seasons.
Though Muichiro supposed that was to be expected, especially considering he spent a majority of his time on Sanemi's farm.
A small smile tugged at the corner of Muichiro's lips. "Thanks, Sanemi."
Sanemi made a face, as if the gratitude physically pained him. "Tch. Don't get all sentimental on me, kid."
Tanjiro, watching the exchange with barely contained amusement, clasped his hands behind his back. "You know, Shinazugawa, if you were nicer, people might actually think you're a good person."
Sanemi turned his glare on him. "Yeah? And if you talked less, people might actually enjoy your company."
Tanjiro let out a full laugh, completely unfazed. "That's fair."
Muichiro, despite himself, felt a quiet sense of contentment settle in his chest.
The world had changed so much. They had changed so much.
And yet, somehow, things like this still felt the same.
Sanemi led them toward the farmhouse, kicking open the wooden gate with a practiced ease. A dog, large, wolfish, and clearly well fed, trotted over immediately, ears perked. It sniffed at Muichiro and Tanjiro before deciding they weren't a threat and slumping lazily by the porch.
"You got a dog?" Tanjiro asked, crouching down to scratch behind its ears.
Sanemi snorted. "Didn't really have a choice. Bastard just showed up one day and wouldn't leave."
Muichiro crouched beside Tanjiro, running his fingers through the thick fur. The dog, an Akita, by the looks of it, let out a pleased huff, tail thumping against the dirt.
"What's his name?" Muichiro asked.
Sanemi exhaled sharply through his nose. "Mutt."
Tanjiro gave him a deeply unimpressed look. "Sanemi."
"What?"
"You really named him Mutt?"
Sanemi shrugged. "Didn't need a name. He listens to oi just fine."
Muichiro hummed, tilting his head. "How about Moro?"
Sanemi frowned. "The hell does that mean?"
"Wolf," Muichiro replied simply.
The dog, Moro, now, lifted his head slightly at the sound, almost as if in approval.
Sanemi eyed the dog, then Muichiro, and finally let out a defeated sigh. "Tch. Fine. Not like he listens to me anyway."
Tanjiro laughed as he gave Moro one last pat before standing. "So, what's for lunch?"
Sanemi raised a brow. "Do I look like a damn chef to you?"
Tanjiro blinked. "You invited us over."
"I invited Tokito over," Sanemi corrected. "You just followed him."
Tanjiro looked genuinely offended. "Are you saying you wouldn't have invited me?"
Sanemi exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Gods, you're like an overgrown puppy."
Muichiro, watching the exchange with mild amusement, adjusted the haori draped over his shoulders. "I don't mind cooking."
Sanemi glanced at him. "You can cook?"
Muichiro nodded. "Giyuu taught me a bit."
Sanemi was quiet for a moment. Then he muttered, "Huh," and jerked his head toward the house. "Kitchen's inside. You can use whatever's there."
Muichiro inclined his head in thanks before heading toward the farmhouse, Tanjiro following close behind.
The house was simple, but lived in. The wooden floors were slightly scuffed, the furniture a mix of old and new. Weapons, mostly hunting knives, were stacked neatly on a shelf near the door, alongside a well maintained whetstone. A single framed sketch sat on the table: a drawing Shinazugawa had done of the Hashira, done during their final year together.
Giyuu was in the sketch, sitting beside Muichiro under the shade of a tree. Shinobu looked to be smacking Tengen in the head, while Kyojuro laughed manically and Obanai encouraged her. Gyomei and Mitsuri sat on the engawa together, watching the scene unfold.
It was one of those moments where no one knew that the moment was being remembered and sketched in such lifelike detail, and that it would be cherished for many years to come.
Muichiro said a silent prayer to those who were lost in the war against Muzan. Shinobu, Gyomei, Tengen, the entire Ubuyashik family. He would never forget them.
Muichiro ran his fingers over the edge of the frame, eyes lingering on the familiar faces. So much had changed.
But some things, it seemed, never really left.
An hour later, they sat around the small wooden table, bowls of rice and grilled fish in front of them. Sanemi leaned back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully.
"...Not bad," he admitted.
Muichiro, still picking at his food, glanced up. "You sound surprised."
Sanemi huffed. "Tch. Just didn't think you had the patience for it."
Tanjiro smiled. "It's really good, Mui."
Muichiro nodded, eating another bite. The food wasn't anything special, but it was warm, and they were together.
Sanemi glanced at him, then grumbled, "Happy birthday, kid."
Muichiro paused. Then, softly, "Thanks."
And for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was truly living.
After finishing lunch at Sanemi's, Muichiro and Tanjiro helped clear the dishes, stacking the bowls neatly in the washbasin. Sanemi, ever the gracious host, grumbled about how they didn't need to help, but neither of them listened.
"You're gonna start thinking I'm some kind of soft hearted fool," Sanemi muttered as he scrubbed a plate with more force than necessary.
Tanjiro, rinsing a bowl beside him, grinned. "Oh, don't worry, Shinazugawa. No one's in danger of thinking that."
Sanemi elbowed him in the ribs, making Tanjiro stumble with a yelp. "Watch it, Kamado."
Muichiro let out a quiet chuckle as he wiped down the table. He wasn't entirely sure when they'd all fallen into this strange rhythm, but he supposed it wasn't a bad thing.
Once everything was put away, they stepped outside into the late afternoon light. The sun had softened, stretching golden over the fields, casting long shadows. The breeze carried the scent of rice paddies and damp earth, and somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed lazily.
At the fork in the road, Muichiro and Tanjiro paused.
"This is where we split, huh?" Tanjiro said, rocking back on his heels.
Muichiro nodded. "I should go see Kanroji and Iguro. If I don't, I'll never hear the end of it."
Tanjiro laughed. "Yeah, Mitsuri's pretty persistent."
Muichiro snorted. "Understatement of the year."
Tanjiro turned back to Muichiro with a smile. "Tell them I said hi. And happy birthday again, Mui."
Muichiro inclined his head. "Thanks."
With that, Tanjiro took the left path leading toward the village, while Muichiro continued along the right, following the winding road toward Mitsuri and Obanai's home.
Mitsuri's house was as warm and welcoming as the woman herself, a charming little cottage nestled beneath the shade of a massive cherry blossom tree. The petals had begun to fall, dusting the garden path in soft pink. The house itself was slightly larger than most in the village, likely because of the number of guests Mitsuri was always inviting over.
Muichiro had barely reached the front steps before the door flew open.
"Mui-chan!" Mitsuri practically barreled into him, arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. "Happy birthday!"
Muichiro stiffened for half a second before allowing himself to relax. "Thank you."
Obanai, standing just behind her in the doorway, crossed his arms with a smirk. "Figured you'd show up eventually. Mitsuri's been waiting all day."
Mitsuri pulled back, beaming. "Come inside! I made tea and pancakes!"
Muichiro let himself be ushered in, Mitsuri happily chatting the entire time. The interior was cozy, filled with soft cushions, neatly arranged tatami mats, and a faint scent of vanilla from a candle burning on the windowsill. Kaburamaru, Obanai's snake, lay curled in his usual spot near the hearth, eyeing Muichiro lazily.
Mitsuri set three cups of tea on the low wooden table, along with a plate stacked high with golden, fluffy pancakes. "Eat as much as you want! I made extra just in case!"
Muichiro sat across from Obanai, who, despite his usual reserved nature, picked up his cup of tea and gave Muichiro a nod. "Happy birthday."
Muichiro inclined his head in return. "Thanks, Obanai."
Mitsuri clapped her hands together. "So, how's your day been? Did you do anything fun?"
Muichiro took a bite of his pancake, chewing thoughtfully. "Went to Sanemi's."
Obanai raised an eyebrow. "And he didn't throw you off his property?"
Mitsuri giggled. "Oh, don't be mean, Obi. Sanemi's grumpy, but he's got a soft side."
Obanai scoffed but didn't argue.
Muichiro sipped his tea, letting their conversation wash over him. It was... nice. A bit overwhelming, but nice nonetheless. Mitsuri talked about the latest village gossip, someone's cow had gotten loose, and another family was expecting a baby, while Obanai made the occasional dry remark.
Mitsuri also explained that she had received a letter from Kyojuro a few days ago. Apparently he was up in the mountains, with his wife, Kolan. They were both healthy, and had just built their new home.
Kyojuro had been deeply affected by Tengen's death, and had gone off to travel and heal in his own way, after the war was over. Muichiro knew what it was like to lose a best friend, and sympathised with him, greatly.
Muichiro hoped Kyojuro was doing well, both in mind and spirit, and thought he should really go and visit the former flame Hashira sometime.
The warmth of the tea, the quiet hum of conversation, the distant rustling of the cherry blossom tree outside, it all felt so different from the life he had once lived.
And yet, a part of him still struggled with it.
By the time he left, the sun had started dipping behind the mountains, streaking the sky in orange and pink. Mitsuri hugged him goodbye, twice, while Obanai gave a simple nod.
Muichiro made his way home, the road empty except for the occasional flicker of fireflies.
By the time he reached his house, night had fully settled. He lit a lantern, casting a warm glow over the wooden walls, before setting his sandals by the door. The house was small, quiet, filled only with the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth.
Muichiro sat at the dining table, resting his arms on the surface, and tried to reflect on his day.
It had been... a good day, he supposed.
But human emotion was still something he struggled with. Being around people all the time was tiring, and reading emotions, his own and others', was difficult.
And as he sat there, his thoughts drifted, as they often did, to him.
Giyuu.
Three years.
It had been three years without the Water Hashira.
Muichiro exhaled slowly, fingers running down the fabric of his haori… Giyuu's haori.
Seven months. That was how long he had known him before he passed. A brief moment in the grand scheme of things, and yet... Giyuu had left a mark on his life that would never fade.
Muichiro thought of him often.
Usually in the quiet moments, when he sat by the river with Tanjiro and Inosuke, watching the water flow endlessly downstream. Or when he ate salmon daikon with Sanemi, the familiar taste tugging at something deep inside him.
That was when he felt it most, the absence, the missing piece.
Sometimes, he would replay Giyuu's final words in his mind, as if hearing them again might somehow bring back the voice that had begun to fade from his memory.
Shame curled in his chest as he admitted it to himself… he was forgetting.
Forgetting the exact way Giyuu's voice had sounded. Forgetting the details of his faint, almost imperceptible smile. Forgetting the way he moved, the way his footsteps had sounded against the wooden floors of the Water Estate.
Time was cruel like that.
But there was one thing he knew with certainty.
Even if the finer details slipped through his grasp, faded like mist in the morning sun, Giyuu's presence in his life would never be erased.
The impact he had left, the lessons he had taught, the quiet companionship they had shared, those things would remain.
Always.