Chapter 2: The Training Grounds and the Flirty Fall
The low fire in the infirmary grate hissed and popped, casting flickering shadows on the worn tatami mats. Anne winced as the Kakushi carefully peeled away the blood-soaked section of her cream off-shoulder top. Giyu stood near the door, a silent pillar of mismatched green and red, his gaze fixed on the rain drumming steadily against the paper screens.
"Ah, see?" the Kakushi murmured, relief softening her features. She dabbed gently at the wound on Anne's side – a deep, angry scratch, but clean and already starting to knit at the edges. "Looks much worse than it is. All this rain just made the blood spread something fierce. You were lucky the claw didn't snag deeper, Fairchild-san."
Anne managed a weak grin. "Told you I'm tougher than I look. Also, mostly waterproof." Her eyes flickered towards Giyu, catching his reflection in the dark windowpane. He remained impassive.
Later, Kagaya Ubuyashiki summoned them to the archives. The air was thick with the scent of old paper, dust, and damp stone. Scrolls lay unrolled across the low table, detailing obscure demon variants and suspected activity zones. Oyakata-sama’s gentle voice filled the quiet room as he outlined the need for deeper research into the demon they’d encountered – its unusual strength, its lieutenant-like capabilities. "Your firsthand account is vital," he said, his clouded eyes seeming to rest on Anne. "Your… observations… could prove key."
Giyu found himself sitting closer to Anne than strictly necessary, the warmth from her body a tangible presence in the cool, musty air. They bent over the scrolls, shoulders occasionally brushing. He pointed out a relevant passage about demonic resilience. She leaned in, her long brown hair grazing his forearm as she traced a faded illustration with her finger. "This marking here, on the shoulder blade… I think I saw that flicker just before it attacked you." Her voice was a low murmur, focused.
"Here?" Giyu shifted, trying to see where her finger indicated. He reached across her, his hand briefly covering hers on the parchment. The contact was electric. He pulled back as if burned. "Apologies."
Anne looked up, a faint blush coloring her tan cheeks. "No, it’s… dense reading. Easy to get tangled." She offered a small, slightly flustered smile. She stood to reach for a heavy scroll high on a shelf. The stool wobbled slightly on the uneven stone floor. Giyu, still seated but alert, instinctively reached out to steady it just as she grabbed the scroll’s edge.
The action dislodged another heavy tube above it. It tumbled down. Anne yelped, twisting to avoid it. Giyu surged up, one hand grabbing her wrist to pull her clear, the other arm coming up instinctively to shield her head. The scroll clattered harmlessly to the floor.
They froze. In the sudden silence, pressed together in the narrow space between the table and the shelves, Giyu found his face mere inches from Anne’s. Her large brown eyes were wide, startled. Her breath hitched, warm against his lips. The scent of wildflowers and warm spice, muted by the archive’s dust, washed over him. He could see the faint gold flecks in her irises, the slight part of her lips. Time stretched, thin and taut.
Then, clumsily, inevitably, as she started to say something and he began to step back, their lips brushed. A fleeting, accidental contact. Soft. Shocking.
Anne jerked back instantly, a hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes met his, filled with genuine surprise, then dawning amusement. A breathy giggle escaped her, light and slightly nervous, dispelling the thick tension. "Whoops! Bit of an archive hazard, huh? Should put a warning sign: 'Beware of falling scrolls… and clumsy Hashira.'" She ducked her head, the blush deepening, but her eyes danced with a mixture of embarrassment and something else. Teasing warmth.
Giyu remained utterly still. Heat, unfamiliar and intense, flooded his neck and ears. He felt rooted to the spot, the phantom sensation of her lips against his burning far more intensely than the scratch on her side ever could. He mumbled something unintelligible – a grunt, perhaps – and turned sharply back to the scrolls on the table, his movements stiff. He didn't dare look at her.
The next few days were a peculiar torment. The Corps headquarters felt both too large and too small. Giyu found his patrol routes taking him inexplicably past the training grounds more frequently. He lingered near the mess hall at times he wouldn’t normally eat. He scanned the courtyards, the weapon racks, the covered walkways. His usual focus, honed to a razor’s edge, felt… scattered. He told himself it was vigilance. She had power. Uncontrolled power. She was an unknown variable. Oyakata-sama had tasked him with integrating her. Observing her recovery was part of that duty.
But the observation felt different now. Charged.
He kept catching glimpses. Anne laughing with a group of junior slayers near the stables, demonstrating a disarming move with effortless grace, her knee-high socks pristine. Anne deep in conversation with Shinobu Kocho outside the infirmary, her expression serious for once. Anne heading towards the eastern training fields with a determined stride, her long hair bouncing.
But when he purposefully went to those places, she was gone. Vanished like morning mist. He inquired casually with a Kakushi about her wound. "Oh, Fairchild-san? Healing beautifully! Barely a scratch now. She’s been incredibly busy, though. Helping train Tanjiro and his friends on the advanced obstacle course all morning."
Tanjiro. The earnest, relentless boy who treated Anne with open, brotherly affection. Giyu felt a flicker of something sharp and unpleasant. Irritation? He dismissed it immediately. Illogical.
He checked the advanced course. Empty except for the lingering scent of exertion and disturbed earth. He checked the meditation gardens. The strategy room. Her assigned quarters (from a distance). Nothing. The frustration built, a low simmer beneath his usual stoic surface. Where was she spending her time if not training, healing, or researching? Was she avoiding him? After the… incident? The thought was absurd. Undignified. Yet it lingered.
The day wore on, grey and drizzly. Giyu’s movements became more clipped, his expression grimmer than usual, earning him an even wider berth than normal from passing slayers. His final stop was the rarely-used equipment storage shed tucked behind the main dojo. It held spare practice dummies, targets, and old mats. A long shot, but he’d run out of logical places.
He pushed the sliding door open with more force than intended. "Anne—" The name was out before he could stop it, sharp with the pent-up energy of his futile search.
Inside, the shed was dim, lit only by a single high window. Dust motes danced in the weak light. And there she was. Anne. Perched precariously atop a wobbly stack of rolled-up tatami mats, reaching for something on a high shelf. She’d clearly just returned; her hair was slightly damp from the drizzle, a few stray strands clinging to her neck. She wore simple training leggings and a fresh, soft grey off-shoulder top. She jumped at the sudden intrusion, the sharp sound of his voice and the door banging open breaking her concentration.
Her foot slipped on the unstable mats. Her balance vanished. She let out a startled gasp, twisting mid-air as she fell backwards towards the hard-packed earth floor.
Giyu moved. Water Hashira speed. A blur of mismatched fabric. He crossed the shed’s width in two strides. His arms shot out. One hand caught her firmly around the waist, the other braced against her back, arresting her fall just inches from the ground. He pulled her upright in one smooth, powerful motion, holding her securely against him for a suspended moment.
She was warm and solid in his arms, breathing rapidly. The scent of wildflowers, damp earth, and her unique warmth enveloped him. Her large brown eyes, wide with surprise, locked onto his from mere inches away. Her hands had instinctively gripped the fabric of his haori at his shoulders. They stood frozen, chest to chest, the only sounds their mingled breaths and the faint patter of rain on the roof.
A slow, knowing smile spread across Anne’s face, replacing the shock. It was playful, warm, and held a glint of pure mischief. Her gaze dropped briefly to where his hands still held her firmly at the waist and back, then lifted back to his eyes. Her voice, when it came, was a low, teasing murmur that vibrated softly between them.
"Careful, Giyu," she said, her lips curving beautifully. "Or people might actually start to think you’re worried about me." She made no immediate move to step back. Her eyes searched his, challenging the stoicism, inviting a response.
Giyu felt the rigid wall within him tremble. The cool water he embodied felt unnervingly warm. Her nearness, the scent, the vibrant life pulsing against him, the sheer audacity of her teasing after the day he’d spent… It cracked his composure. Not shattered, but cracked. A flicker of something unfamiliar – amusement? exasperation? – sparked deep in his blue eyes. The faintest, almost imperceptible upward curve touched the corner of his mouth. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was a surrender. An acknowledgment of the game she had just started.
He didn't let go. Not yet. The equipment shed, filled with dust and echoes of rain, became the unlikely stage for the first real spark of something new. The silence wasn't empty anymore; it hummed with unspoken words and the promise of banter yet to come. Her fingers tightened slightly on his haori, anchoring him as much as he anchored her. The search was over. He’d found her. And now, he wasn't entirely sure what to do next.