65
As Shinobu got up to leave, she smoothed her sleeves and turned back to you with that sly little smile she always wore when she was about to cause emotional damage.
“Oh—almost forgot,” she added sweetly, hand on the doorframe. “You should get ready to meet your fanboys and fangirls. They’ve been lining up to come in.”
She winked before slipping out of the room like she hadn’t just ruined your peace.
You stared at the ceiling, deadpan.
“Ugh. Can’t even rest in my own bed, in my own room. Bruh.”
The door creaked again.
You groaned. “I swear to GOD if it’s Zenitsu again—”
“Hey… Y/N.”
That voice wasn’t Zenitsu’s.
You turned your head slowly, already knowing who it was before you saw him.
Sanemi Shinazugawa stood in the doorway, stiff as ever, holding a poorly assembled bouquet of wildflowers like he’d wrestled them from a bear. His ears were pink. His expression was sour.
“SANEMI?!” you yelped.
“Shut your damn mouth, brat. You wanna wake the whole damn wing?” he snapped, marching over to the chair beside your bed.
He plopped down, dropped the flowers on the table like they offended him, and crossed his arms.
You stared at them, then back at him. “You brought me flowers?”
“Don’t get used to it. I was gonna throw ‘em on your grave if you kicked the bucket.”
You blinked. “Aw, that’s the nicest way anyone’s ever threatened to mourn me.”
He rolled his eyes but didn’t look at you. “You weren’t waking up. And I wasn’t there when they brought you in. That’s on me.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Why do you care?”
His jaw tensed.
“I just… do, okay?” he muttered, eyes flicking away. “You’re annoying. Loud. Dumb. But you’re not supposed to die. Not like that. Not when I wasn’t there.”
Your heart thudded. You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Sanemi…”
He cut you off. “Don’t go soft on me now.”
You smirked a little. “You came all this way just to call me dumb?”
“I came here to see for myself that you’re not dead. And to tell you next time—don’t pull that shit again.”
Your eyes softened, just slightly. “Thanks for coming, Sanemi.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Tch. Whatever. Just shut up and sleep already.”
You turned on your side, murmuring, “No promises.”
But then just as your eyes fluttered closed—you felt something near your hand. Not touching. Just… hovering. Close. Warm.
“I’ll stay. Just in case those rabid fanboys come bursting in like Shinobu said,” he muttered.
“…Jealous?”
“In your dreams, brat.”
You peeked one eye open, already feeling a smirk tug at your lips. “Sooo… you are jealous.”
Sanemi stiffened in the chair beside you like you'd dumped a bucket of ice on him. “What the hell are you on about?”
You turned your head, cheek squished against the pillow. “Don’t play dumb. Shinobu said the fanboys and fangirls were lining up, and you decided to guard me like I’m the last rice ball on Earth.”
“Tch. Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered, looking at the wall like it personally offended him.
“Mmhm. You’re totally jealous. It's okay, Shinazugawa. You can admit it.”
His eye twitched. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t trust half those idiots not to trip over themselves drooling all over you.”
“Sounds like jealousy to me,” you sang, voice low and smug.
“I swear to god, if you weren’t half-bandaged I’d toss you out the window.”
You snorted, wincing slightly at the motion. “Careful. Threatening the injured? You’ll blow your reputation as a gentleman.”
Sanemi gave you a look. “I’m not a gentleman.”
You smirked. “Yeah. I know. That’s why I like messing with you.”
For once, he didn’t have a snarky comeback.
Just a low grunt… and a quiet, barely-there mutter under his breath.
“…Brat.”
You closed your eyes again with a tired smile, warmth blooming in your chest. “Still jealous though.”
He didn’t respond.
But his hand stayed close to yours.
Just as you were drifting off again—peacefully this time, smug from bullying a whole Wind Hashira—the door slammed open.
“Y/N-CHAAAAN!!”
Zenitsu flew in like a missile, nearly knocking the door off its hinges. Behind him were at least six Kakushi, two random junior slayers, and Mitsuri bouncing in place holding a handmade "𝑾𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚/𝒏" sign in pastel ink.
“OH MY GOD,” you groaned, slapping a hand over your face. “What is this, a meet-and-greet?”
Zenitsu dove toward you, sparkles in his eyes. “YOU’RE OKAY!! I WAS SO WORRIED, I WAS GONNA DIE, I SWEAR I WOULD HAVE STARTED A WAR IF YOU HADN’T WOKEN UP—”
Sanemi stood up so fast his chair screeched. “Back. The fuck. Up.”
Zenitsu froze mid-hug. “Eep—! S-Sanemi-san! I was just—!”
“I don’t care if you were bringing her holy water, back up before I punt you into next week.”
Inosuke burst through the crowd next, boar mask still on, carrying... was that a drawing of you? Made out of leaves?
“Y/N! I drew your victory portrait!” he held it up proudly. It looked like a stick figure punching a worm. “Pretty, right?! I stepped on a crow to find the green crayon!”
You blinked. “…I have no words. Except, thanks?”
Tanjiro entered last smiling softly, hands full with little snacks. “Sorry about all this, Y/N. They insisted.”
Sanemi looked like he was about to combust.
“I told Shinobu no visitors, and she sends in an entire parade,” you mumbled, glaring at the ceiling. “I’m gonna fight her. In my sleep.”
Mitsuri trotted over and took your hand. “Y/N-chaaan! I was so worried! Your aura looked soooo faint when we first found you!”
“Why does my aura matter?!”
“Because you’re glowing now!! Like a flower blooming in spring!” she sniffled dramatically.
Sanemi clenched his jaw. “Alright, party’s over. You—out. You—put that sign down. You—don’t touch her damn hair.”
Zenitsu squeaked and dropped his hand mid-pat.
Tanjiro opened his mouth to say something gentle, but you beat him to it.
"Okay, okay! Enough of this K-drama energy!everyone out. I love y’all, I do. But I’m injured, cranky, and two seconds away from stabbing the next person who breathes too loudly."
They all blinked.
Then slowly, like scolded puppies, the fan club started to shuffle out.
Inosuke grumbled but handed you the drawing anyway. Zenitsu blew you a kiss and got smacked by Sanemi. Mitsuri promised to visit later with flower crowns. And Tanjiro gave you one last look that said “please rest or I will worry forever.”
Finally, the door clicked shut.
You sighed and flopped back onto the pillows.
Sanemi stayed standing at your bedside, arms crossed.
“…They’re all idiots.”
You grinned without opening your eyes. “Aw. You jealous again?”
He scoffed. “Tch. Just saying. You deserve better company than a bunch of love-drunk morons and fan club freaks.”
“…So what, you volunteering?”
Silence.
Then—
“…Maybe.”
You cracked one eye open, smirk slowly forming. “Aw. That’s sweet.”
“I take it back.”
“Too late. I heard it. Gonna remember it forever.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You like it.”
Another silence.
But he didn’t deny it.
And that said enough for now
You shifted under the blanket, side still sore but feeling more human now. Your fingers played absentmindedly with the edge of Inosuke’s crayon-leaf drawing, and your eyes flicked toward Sanemi, who was still standing there like a guard dog who hadn’t been patted yet.
“…You’re seriously just gonna stand there like that?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What, you want me to leave?”
“No. But you could sit. Unless being near me gives you hives.”
Sanemi muttered something under his breath, then finally sat back down in the chair beside your bed, arms still crossed, eyes pointed everywhere but your face.
A beat of silence passed.
“You really weren’t there when they brought me in, huh,” you said quietly, not accusing just… stating.
His jaw tensed. “I wasn’t. I didn’t know if you ..if I was gonna see you again.”
Your gaze flicked to him, but he didn’t meet it.
“You were unconscious. Covered in blood. And the Kakushi were saying shit like 'too late' and 'no pulse.' And all I could think was—” he cut himself off, scoffing. “Tch. Never mind.”
You blinked, the air suddenly heavier than before. Slowly, you shifted to face him more fully, ignoring the ache in your limbs.
“Sanemi.”
He still didn’t look at you.
So you leaned forward, poked his shoulder. “Hey. I didn’t die, dumbass.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh? Then what’s the point?”
“…The point is that you keep running into danger like your life doesn’t matter. And I’m getting real tired of thinking I’m gonna lose you.”
You stared at him.
That wasn’t yelling. That wasn’t him cussing you out or calling you a brat.
That was honesty.
And it felt scarier than any of the other stuff he usually said.
“…I didn’t know you cared that much,” you said softly, breaking the silence.
He finally looked at you, eyes sharp, but not cruel. “Yeah. Well. I do. So quit making me regret it.”
You snorted and leaned your head back against the pillow. “You really are the most aggressive softie I’ve ever met.”
“Say that again and I’m walking out.”
“I dare you.”
You smirked, and for the first time since he walked in, he almost smiled back. Almost.
But instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze flicking to your healing wounds. His voice dropped lower.
“…Get some rest, idiot.”
You closed your eyes, a quiet chuckle slipping out. “Yessir, Wind Hashira, sir.”
He muttered something about you being insufferable again, but his hand brushed lightly against the edge of your blanket before he leaned back into his chair.
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