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It was an unusually peaceful afternoon at the Butterfly Estate. The cicadas hummed lazily, and a faint breeze carried the scent of lavender and disinfectant — Shinobu’s doing, probably.
Gyomei sat cross-legged by the koi pond, his prayer beads clinking softly as he murmured under his breath. Giyuu sat a little ways off, staring at the water as though it had personally offended him.
They had been sitting like that for almost half an hour.
And then, without warning, Gyomei said, voice deep and calm as ever,
“Tomioka. I heard something most curious.”
Giyuu blinked. Heard? He wasn’t used to Gyomei initiating conversation. Or any conversation, really.
“...Oh.”
That was the most enthusiasm Giyuu could muster on short notice.
Gyomei turned his head slightly toward him.
“Shinobu told Mitsuri that she saw Sanemi arguing with Obanai again. Something about… who Mitsuri smiled at first this morning.”
There was a pause. The cicadas seemed to hush, as if waiting for Giyuu’s reaction.
“That’s not surprising,” Giyuu said flatly, flicking a pebble into the pond.
“Sanemi argues with oxygen.”
Gyomei let out a soft chuckle — a rare sound that made the nearby koi ripple away like startled fans.
“Indeed. But the amusing part,” he continued, “is that Obanai accused Sanemi of being jealous, and Sanemi said he doesn’t even know what that word means.”
Giyuu’s lips twitched. Once. Almost a smile.
“I can believe that. He probably thinks it’s a plant.”
Gyomei’s chuckle deepened.
“Perhaps a cactus,” he rumbled. “Spiky and defensive.”
“And stubbornly alive despite no one watering it,” Giyuu muttered, deadpan.
They fell silent again, both quietly proud of that mental image.
A minute passed. Then Gyomei said, in the same serene tone one might use to discuss the weather:
“I also heard that Rengoku complimented your haori.”
That caught Giyuu off-guard.
“...He did.”
“And you told him, and I quote,” Gyomei said, folding his massive hands together, “‘Thanks, it’s reversible.’”
Giyuu’s ears turned slightly pink.
“It is reversible.”
Gyomei’s shoulders shook with barely restrained laughter.
“Rengoku thought it was an attempt at poetry.”
Giyuu blinked slowly.
“It wasn’t.”
“He said it was profound,” Gyomei added with a grin. “He’s been quoting you all morning. ‘Ah, the haori of duality! Flame and Water! How poetic!’”
Giyuu groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“I just meant you can wear it on both sides.”
Gyomei nodded solemnly.
“Sometimes, Tomioka, wisdom is misunderstood by those not yet ready to receive it.”
Giyuu stared at him for a long second.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.”
“Greatly.”
---
After a few more moments of silence, Giyuu sighed and muttered,
“...You know, Mitsuri told me Shinobu hides mochi in her medicine cabinet so no one finds them.”
Gyomei turned his head sharply, scandalized.
“Truly?”
“Yeah. I saw her eat one while yelling at Zenitsu.”
Gyomei clasped his hands, looking both amused and horrified.
“A secret stash within the sanctum of healing… such duplicity.”
“She offered me one,” Giyuu added blandly. “Said it was ‘prescription-grade sweetness.’”
Gyomei actually snorted. Snorted.
“Perhaps I have underestimated the depths of her craft.”
“Don’t tell Sanemi,” Giyuu warned. “He’ll try to confiscate them and eat them all.”
“And then pretend he’s doing it for ‘disciplinary reasons,’” Gyomei finished knowingly.
---
By the time the sun began to set, both men had somehow cycled through every piece of gossip they’d accidentally overheard over the past month — from Tengen’s sparkly eyeliner ingredients to the rumor that Inosuke tried to fight his own reflection again.
Finally, Giyuu leaned back, surprisingly content.
“You know… this wasn’t so bad.”
Gyomei nodded serenely, the faintest smile tugging his lips.
“Indeed. It is… cleansing to unburden the heart through gentle discourse.”
“That’s one way to describe gossip,” Giyuu said dryly.
“Confession,” Gyomei corrected. “We simply confessed the sins of others.”
Giyuu thought for a moment, then shrugged.
“Works for me.”
They sat in companionable silence again, the sound of water trickling through the pond.
And then, after a pause, Gyomei said quietly —
“By the way, Shinobu told me you smiled yesterday.”
“That’s a rumor,” Giyuu said immediately.
“She has witnesses.”
“Bribes.”
“And a drawing.”
“...That’s forged.”
Gyomei hummed softly, clearly unconvinced.
“A forged drawing? Shinobu’s sketches are remarkably accurate.”
Giyuu crossed his arms.
“Then it was staged.”
Gyomei tilted his head.
“You’re saying you hired a decoy to smile on your behalf?”
“If I had the budget for that, I’d hire someone to talk to people for me.”
That earned another laugh from the Stone Hashira — deep, warm, the kind that made the air vibrate slightly.
“You have a sharp tongue, Tomioka. You should use it more often.”
Giyuu looked mildly alarmed.
“No.”
Gyomei raised a brow.
“No?”
“Every time I talk, people think I’m being rude.”
“Perhaps your delivery lacks… softness.”
“I don’t have softness.”
“Not yet,” Gyomei said serenely. “But perhaps a reversible haori conceals more than one kind of duality.”
Giyuu side-eyed him.
“You’ve been spending too much time around Rengoku.”
“He is quite persuasive,” Gyomei admitted with a fond sigh. “He asked if I wanted to join him for a ‘passionate sunrise scream.’”
Giyuu blinked.
“...What?”
“Apparently, one greets the dawn with enthusiasm. I declined.”
“Good.”
Gyomei smiled faintly.
“He said he’d come get me next time regardless.”
“Then hide.”
“Behind you?”
“He’d never think to look that low.”
Gyomei let out a wheezing laugh, shoulders shaking.
“You grow bolder with each jest, Tomioka.”
“I’m tired,” Giyuu said flatly, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “That’s when the honesty leaks out.”
They sat again in easy silence, the kind that only existed between two people who had both seen too much and somehow still found the energy to gossip about it.
Then Gyomei leaned in ever so slightly, lowering his voice like a conspirator in a temple.
“Between us… I heard that Muichiro told Tengen he doesn’t understand what ‘flashy’ means.”
Giyuu’s eyes flickered with faint amusement.
“And?”
“Tengen took it as a personal challenge.”
“He would.”
“He’s apparently designing matching uniforms for the Mist Corps.”
Giyuu blinked.
“Uniforms?”
“Sequined. With tassels.”
Giyuu stared at him for a long moment, processing that. Then, flat as a blade’s edge:
“I’m not saving him when Muichiro murders him.”
“Nor I,” Gyomei agreed solemnly. “It would be divine justice.”
A breeze rustled the bamboo nearby, carrying the faint, unmistakable sound of someone’s laughter — light and teasing.
Both men froze.
From behind the corner of the estate wall, Shinobu’s voice chimed, all honey and daggers:
“Well, well… divine justice, hm?”
Giyuu’s face fell.
“...She heard that, didn’t she.”
Gyomei exhaled slowly.
“I believe our confessional has been compromised.”
“We’re doomed.”
“Indeed.”
And from further behind, Mitsuri’s voice joined in brightly,
“You two gossip even better than I do!”
Giyuu groaned into his hands.
Gyomei just clasped his beads and murmured, utterly calm,
“Forgive us, Lord, for we have socialized.”