Chapter 75: Wisteria Picnic
The path Giyu led her down was little more than a deer trail, winding deep into the woods behind the corps headquarters. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy overhead, painting the forest floor in shifting patterns of gold and green. The air was cooler here, smelling of damp earth and the sweet, heavy perfume of blooming wisteria.
“Where are we going?” Anne asked, her hand comfortably enveloped in his. His grip was firm, certain, a stark contrast to the man who had trembled against her just days before.
“A place,” was all he said, his voice a low rumble.
They broke through a wall of ferns into a small, hidden glade. It was breathtaking. A blanket of soft moss covered the ground, and ancient wisteria trees draped their purple blossoms over a meandering stream that gurgled over smooth, grey stones. It was private, perfect, and utterly unexpected.
He’d laid out a simple, dark blue blanket. Sitting beside it was a small, carefully wrapped bundle.
“Sit,” he said, his tone not commanding, but quietly hopeful.
She sank onto the blanket, tucking her knees under her. Giyu knelt opposite her, his movements stiff with a formality that felt endearing rather than distant. He unwrapped the bundle, revealing an embroidered handkerchief containing a few of her favorite sweet rice cakes and a small cluster of perfectly red strawberries.
Anne’s breath caught. “You remembered.”
He gave a single, sharp nod, his eyes fixed on the food as if it were a complex tactical problem. “The vendor came to the village yesterday.”
She picked up a rice cake, the sweetness melting on her tongue. “This is… really nice, Giyu. Thank you.”
They ate in a comfortable silence, broken only by the stream and the distant calls of birds. The tension that usually coiled around him like a spring had loosened. He watched her, his dark blue eyes tracking the way she brushed a crumb from her lip, the way she tilted her face up to the sun.
He picked up a strawberry by its stem, holding it out to her. The gesture was so clumsy, so un-practiced, it was painfully sincere. His brow was furrowed in concentration.
Anne leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Instead of taking it from him, she gently bit the fruit from the stem, her lips deliberately brushing against his fingertips.
He flinched as if burned, his ears flushing a brilliant, unmistakable pink. He dropped the stem, staring at his fingers as if they’d betrayed him.
A laugh bubbled out of her, light and unburdened, echoing in the small clearing. “Your face.”
He looked up, the pink spreading to his cheeks. “You… bit me.”
“It was an accident,” she lied, her smile widening.
“It wasn’t.” The statement was flat, factual. He knew her too well.
“Okay, it wasn’t.” She shuffled closer on the blanket until their knees were almost touching. The air between them shifted, the playful energy deepening into something warmer, more potent. The memory of his kiss in the dawn light hung between them, a promise they hadn’t yet fully explored.
He was looking at her mouth. His own confession—Be mine—seemed to hang in the air, charging the space between them.
Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, he raised his hand again. He didn’t reach for the strawberries. His fingers, calloused and strong, came to rest against her jaw. His thumb stroked the line of her cheekbone, a touch so tentative it made her heart ache.
“Is this okay?” he murmured, his voice rough.
In answer, she covered his hand with her own, pressing it more firmly against her skin. “Yes.”
That single word seemed to break the last of his reserve. He leaned in, and this time his kiss wasn’t a question or a desperate relief. It was slow. Intentional. His lips were softer than she remembered, moving against hers with a growing confidence that stole the air from her lungs. She could taste the faint, sweet trace of strawberry.
One of his hands slid into her hair, loosening the tie so the brown strands tumbled around her shoulders. The other settled on the small of her back, pulling her closer until she was half in his lap, the rough fabric of his mismatched haori a familiar texture against her arm.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily. The stoic Water Hashira was gone, replaced by a man whose eyes were dark with a quiet, overwhelming want. He rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm on her skin.
“Anne,” he whispered, her name a prayer.
She traced the line of his jaw, feeling the tension there. “I’m here.”
He kissed her again, deeper this time, a silent language that said everything words failed to. His hands mapped the planes of her back, learning her shape, committing it to memory. The world outside the glade—the demons, the corps, her hidden bloodline, his buried ghosts—faded into a distant hum. There was only the moss beneath them, the dappled sun on their skin, and the terrifying, exhilarating feeling of two solitary currents finally merging into one.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his gaze searching her face. He didn’t smile, but the peace in his expression was more profound than any grin.
He carefully, deliberately, folded the embroidered handkerchief that had held the sweets and tucked it into the palm of her hand, closing her fingers over it. A keepsake. A promise.
Then he simply held her, as the wisteria blossoms drifted down around them like purple snow.
The scent of wisteria clung to their clothes as they finally stirred, the sun dipping lower and casting long shadows across the moss. Giyu’s arms tightened around her for a final, fleeting moment before he released her, the practiced mask of detachment already settling back over his features. “We should return,” he said, his voice low and rough, as if unused.
Anne nodded, smoothing down her dress and retying her hair, her fingers lingering where his had been. She caught his eye and gave a small, private smile that made his gaze drop to the ground, a faint flush creeping up his neck. He stood, offering a hand to pull her up, his grip firm and warm before he let go as if the contact burned.
They walked back in a comfortable silence, their shoulders occasionally brushing, each touch sending a jolt through the quiet air between them. The path widened, and the distant sounds of the corps compound—clashing practice swords, shouted commands—began to filter through the trees. Giyu’s posture straightened, his stride becoming more measured, the Water Hashira re-emerging fully.
As they stepped into the main courtyard, the energy of the place immediately swallowed them. Trainees bowed as Giyu passed, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and respect. He acknowledged them with a slight, impersonal nod, his expression unreadable.
Anne fell into step slightly behind him, the picture of a respectful junior. Then, as they passed a group of trainees struggling with a water-breathing form, Giyu paused. “Your stance is too high,” he stated, his voice cutting through their fumbling movements. He didn’t look at her, but his hand gestured vaguely in her direction. “Anne. Demonstrate the correct form for them.”
It was a perfectly logical, professional request. But the way he said her name, with a subtle, gravelly undertone, made her skin prickle. “Of course, Tomioka-san,” she replied, her voice sweet and neutral.
She moved to the center of the practice area, falling into the fluid first form. As she moved, she caught his eye across the yard. He was watching her, his arms crossed, but his thumb was subtly stroking the spot on his finger where she had nibbled the strawberry. Her breath hitched, and she almost missed a step, covering it with an extra flourish.
“See the hip placement,” he called out to the trainees, his tone all business. But his eyes, locked with hers for a half-second too long, said something else entirely. I see you.
Later, in the mess hall, the air thick with the smell of stew and sweat, she found herself seated at a crowded table with several other slayers. Giyu was at the head of the Hashira’s table, several feet away, engaged in a silent, stoic meal with Shinobu Kocho.
Someone made a joke, and Anne laughed, a bright, genuine sound. She felt Giyu’s gaze like a physical touch. She didn’t look at him, instead focusing on her bowl, but she let her foot stretch out under the long table. Her sandal gently brushed against the leg of his chair.
His entire body went still. He didn’t look down, didn’t react, but the hand holding his chopsticks tightened until his knuckles were white. Shinobu said something to him, and he gave a curt, one-word reply, his attention seemingly elsewhere.
Anne pulled her foot back, a slow, secret smile playing on her lips. She took a sip of water, her eyes drifting casually around the room before they flickered to his. He was already watching her, a storm of frustration and want in his blue eyes, a silent reprimand and a plea all at once. The corner of his mouth twitched, the barest hint of a smile he couldn’t quite suppress.
Then he looked away, breaking the connection, and the moment was gone. But the heat of it lingered in the space between them, a dangerous, thrilling secret that promised more.
The heat of it lingered in the space between them, a dangerous, thrilling secret that promised more. The following days were a delicate dance of stolen glances and accidental touches in the crowded corridors of the corps headquarters. He maintained his rigid composure, a pillar of stoic authority, but his eyes followed her with a new, unmistakable intensity.