Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The halls of Sanemi-Kan Middle School were filled with the scent of cheap body spray, the sound of clacking platform sandals, and the blaring of Missy Elliott from someone’s bootleg MP3 player. It was 2004, and the world was chaos—but to Giyuu Tomioka, everything still made sense.

Thirteen years old. Still awkward, still learning how to do his eyeliner without stabbing himself. Still trying to figure out if the people who called him “weird” meant it in a bad way or not.

He walked into school wearing a hand-me-down hoodie that swallowed him whole, skinny jeans with one rip at the knee (not by design), and an old messenger bag covered in Invader Zim and My Chemical Romance buttons. His dark hair hung in messy waves, and his bangs fell into his eyes—he never bothered to move them. His walk was quiet. Purposeful. Invisible, if he was lucky.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t have friends.

“Giyuu!” Mitsuri Kanroji was the first to spot him, as always—because nothing got past the queen of pastel chaos. She waved from across the hall, pink pigtails bouncing, her cropped Hello Kitty tee barely meeting the waistband of her sparkly flared jeans. “You’re late!”

“I’m not,” Giyuu mumbled, barely smiling—but it was there. Just a little. Just enough.

Behind her came the rest of the Hashira gang:

Obanai, with his edgy studded belt and eyeliner so thick he looked like he hadn’t slept since the sixth grade.

Sanemi, already wearing a school-issued uniform jacket wrong with his bleach-blond hair spiked in all directions.

Tengen, towering and obnoxiously loud, in his rhinestoned True Religion jeans, yelling about how “basic” the cafeteria burritos were.

And Shinobu, sipping a Starbucks frappuccino like her life depended on it, side-eying literally everyone.

They were kind of popular. But also kind of freaks.
And that made Giyuu feel like maybe, maybe, he belonged.

“You coming to Mitsuri’s house after school?” Tengen asked, slapping a hand on Giyuu’s back like he was trying to send him into the next dimension.

Giyuu shrugged. “Maybe. Gotta ask my dad.”

“Bring your GameCube!” Mitsuri begged. “We’re doing a Mario Kart tournament and Sanemi keeps cheating.”

“YOU'RE JUST BAD AT DRIVING,” Sanemi shouted from the other side of the lockers.

Everyone was laughing, even Giyuu, but it felt…far away.
Like he was watching it all from behind a screen.

No one knew yet that he was transgender.
No one asked.
They just knew him as Giyuu, the quiet one with the big eyes and the tragic backstory about his mom dying when he was born. That was all anyone ever said. That was all they let him be.

And maybe that was okay.
For now.

He closed his locker, turned to follow his friends down the hall, and tried not to think about how tight his chest felt in the morning. Or how his name still wasn’t legally changed. Or how his voice never dropped the way he wanted it to.

He tried not to think about any of that.
Because this was before everything.
Before he showed up.

Before Douma.

Giyuu was spacing out in third period Language Arts, doodling little stars in the margins of his notebook when he felt someone nudge his elbow.

“Stop daydreaming, nerd,” Sabito whispered, grinning as he passed him a note folded into a mini paper football. His desk was right behind Giyuu’s—senior privilege. “You’re gonna miss the vocab quiz.”

Giyuu rolled his eyes but cracked a tiny smile. “You’re a senior. Why are you in my class?”

“Because I like free points and annoying you. Obviously.”

Ms. Kocho was mid-lecture about metaphors and similes and how Romeo and Juliet were “not actually goals,” when Giyuu quietly raised his hand.

“Can I go to the restroom?”

She nodded, barely looking up. “Take the pass. Be back in five.”

He slid out of his seat, slipping the plastic bathroom pass off the hook, and headed out into the hallway. The second the door shut behind him, the chaos of the school washed over him again—lockers slamming, kids laughing too loud, footsteps echoing down the waxed tile.

It was peaceful in the bathroom. Quiet. And yeah, maybe he took a minute longer than he needed just to breathe. The lights buzzed overhead as he washed his hands, staring at himself in the mirror.

“Giyuu Tomioka,” he whispered under his breath. “That’s your name.”

He said it every time. Just to remind himself.
That’s your name.
That’s who you are.

He walked back out into the hallway and started down the corridor.

And then he saw him.

Douma.

Leaning against the lockers like he was posing for a yearbook cover. Tall, bleached-blond with pastel streaks in his hair, eyes like a mix of rainbows and secrets, lip gloss shimmering. He had one earbud in, the other hanging loose as his Juicy Couture hoodie rode up just enough to show off a silver belly ring and low-rise jeans that defied gravity.

Two girls giggled behind their hands as he walked past them. A guy from the basketball team fist-bumped him. One of the teachers literally ignored the fact that he wasn’t wearing a dress code shirt.

He was untouchable. Unbothered. The kind of person who didn’t exist in real life.
And for some reason, he looked straight at Giyuu.

Like—right at him.

Giyuu froze.

Douma’s eyes scanned him like he was reading a magazine cover. Not in a mean way. Not in a crush way either. Just… curious.
He tilted his head, almost smiling. “Cute hoodie,” he said, voice smooth like bubblegum and razorblades.

Giyuu blinked. “Uh… thanks.”

And that was it. Just a moment. Just a compliment.

But as Giyuu kept walking, heart pounding in his ears, he didn’t notice that Douma was still watching.
Watching the way he walked.
Watching the way he carried himself.

Like he’d just found something interesting.
Something new to play with.

The cafeteria was loud. Like, screaming over your pizza and Capri Sun kind of loud. Giyuu sat with his usual group—the Hashira gang—laughing at something Shinobu said about Tengen’s rhinestone-covered lunchbox. His tray had one sad chicken nugget left and a half-melted Go-Gurt.

“Bro, are you even gonna eat that?” Sanemi asked, already halfway reaching across the table.

“I was,” Giyuu said flatly, but pushed the tray toward him anyway.

But just as Sanemi was mid-bite, the room shifted. Like, the air literally changed. A hush fell across their table, the way it does in movies when something dramatic is about to happen.

Douma.

He strolled past, his perfect little posse trailing behind him like shiny, over-accessorized ducklings. One of them had a baby pink razor flip phone, another wore a mesh top with NO undershirt (illegal?? iconic?? unclear??). They were walking slow, like they knew people were watching them—and of course, everyone was.

As they passed the Hashira table, Douma’s glitter-coated eyes flicked over to Giyuu again.

This time, though?

He smirked.

The other hot people with him didn’t even smile. They just looked Giyuu up and down—like he was a dirty sock on the floor.

Like…
Loser.

Giyuu didn’t say anything. Didn’t flinch. But inside? Something snapped.

That night, Giyuu didn’t do his homework.
Didn’t go to game night with Sabito.
Didn’t even say goodnight to Muzan, who was passed out on the couch with a glass of wine and reruns of Grey’s Anatomy playing in the background.

He shut his bedroom door, turned on his tiny lamp, and stared into the mirror.

His oversized hoodie.
His plain jeans.
The little scuff on his old sneakers.

“…I look like a fifth grader.”

He sat down on the floor, tying and untying his shoelaces over and over. “No wonder he looked at me like that.”
His eyes were stormy. Determined.
This wasn’t gonna be his villain origin story.
This was gonna be his glow-up.

Red Balls was THE place.
Graffiti walls. Beaded curtains. Neon signs. Loud pop punk music blasting out front. Basically the kind of store that screamed, “Shoplift here and you’ll become an ICON.”

Giyuu snuck out the back door around 9pm. Muzan didn’t even stir. Sabito had a sleepover, and the streets were mostly empty. He wore his hoodie up and walked fast, heart pounding like he was heading into battle.

When he got to Red Balls, he paused. Took a breath. Act cool.

He stepped inside and immediately got hit with the scent of knockoff Axe, fake leather, and something vaguely cherry-scented. A girl behind the counter had black lipstick and a name tag that said "VENOM 💋".

And then.

Douma.

Leaning against a rack of mesh tank tops, spinning a butterfly knife like it was casual.
He was alone this time. Just him and his reflection in the mirror-covered wall.

Giyuu panicked. He had maybe $5 and a stick of gum in his pocket. And this store? Not cheap.
He started turning around—ready to just give up and cry behind a dumpster—but then…

A woman passed by. Louis Vuitton bag. Blinged out. Totally distracted on her bedazzled Sidekick.

Giyuu didn’t even think.
He just… did it. Like muscle memory from a past life.

<>His hand slid into the bag, slipped out the thick leather wallet, and stuffed it into his hoodie. He walked off fast. Didn’t run. Didn’t look back.

Later, tucked behind a clothing rack, he opened it.

Hundreds. Of. Dollars.
Crisp bills. Like they’d never been touched.
He looked up.

Douma was watching him from the next aisle, leaning forward slightly, lips parted like he’d just seen something very interesting.

Giyuu walked over. Heart in his throat. Wallet in hand.

“I’ve got money,” he said. “Wanna help me spend it?”

Douma blinked. Then smiled—wide. Like a shark with glitter on its teeth.

“Oh, baby,” he purred. “You’re coming shopping with me.”

Chapter Text

The mall parking lot smelled like burnt rubber and cheap perfume as Giyuu carried his new haul of bags—flare jeans, graphic tees, chokers, platform boots, and enough chains to start a small jewelry store. He felt like a different person.
Like maybe this was the real him.
The cool him.

Douma was grinning from ear to ear, sunglasses pushed up on his bleach-blond head. “You look like you belong in a music video, honestly,” he said, voice dripping with that teasing edge.

Giyuu smiled shyly, adjusting his new silver choker. “Thanks… I never thought I could pull this off.”

“Of course you can,” Douma said, bumping his shoulder. “But if you want to really fit in, you gotta try new things.”

Giyuu blinked. “Like what?”

Douma pulled a slim pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and flicked one out with practiced ease. “This,” he said, lighting it with a flick of a lighter. The glow painted his face gold for a second before he took a slow drag and exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Wanna try?”

Giyuu hesitated. He’d never even thought about smoking. The only thing he’d inhaled lately was bad cafeteria pizza grease and the occasional breath of panic.

But in his head, his thoughts spiraled: This is what cool people do. This is what friends do. If I want to be part of this, I have to say yes.

He nodded.

Douma handed him a cigarette like it was a sacred artifact.

The first puff burned his throat and made his eyes water, but he tried to hide it. He coughed once. Twice.

Douma laughed softly. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”

The smoke swirled between them, a quiet haze wrapping around the streetlights.

Giyuu tried to pretend it felt like freedom. Like he wasn’t just chasing a shadow.

He didn’t know that this was the beginning.

The first step down a long, winding road filled with smoke, secrets, and bad decisions.

But for now, all he saw was Douma’s smile.

Chapter Text

The old wooden floor creaked beneath Giyuu’s sneakers as he tiptoed through the quiet house, bags of stolen clothes slung over one shoulder. The soft hum of the city filtered through the cracked window, a lullaby for a boy who didn’t feel quite at home anywhere.

He was almost to his room when a shadow blocked the hallway.

Muzan.

Sitting on the edge of Giyuu’s bed, arms crossed, eyes sharp but tired. The dim light from the streetlamp outside painted his face with long, serious shadows.

“Where have you been?” Muzan asked quietly, voice calm but firm.

Giyuu froze. His heart slammed against his ribs like a warning bell.
He swallowed hard. “I—I was working more shifts at the café,” he lied, voice small but steady. “I’ve been saving up.”

Muzan’s eyes searched his face, trying to find the truth hidden behind those big, tired eyes.

“You know the rule,” Muzan said, voice softening. “You’re not allowed out past the streetlights.”

Giyuu nodded, feeling the weight of the warning heavy in the air.

Muzan sighed, standing and brushing his fingers through his hair, exhaustion leaking through his calm exterior.

“I believe you,” he said. “But sneaking out isn’t the way, Giyuu. If you want something… talk to me.”

There was a pause. A silence filled with things neither said.

“Just don’t make me worry like this again.”

Giyuu looked down, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Muzan reached out and ruffled his hair—the smallest gesture of affection in the world but it felt like armor.

“Goodnight, kid.”

And just like that, Muzan was gone. Leaving Giyuu alone with his stolen clothes and the echo of a love that was messy but real.
Weeks slipped by like cigarette smoke—slowly curling, twisting, and disappearing into nothing.

Giyuu was different now.
His once-quiet demeanor had been replaced by sharp edges and dark eyeliner.
His oversized hoodies swapped for tight crop tops and flared Junko pants.
The boy who used to keep his head down now laughed a little too loud, leaned a little too close to Douma, and smoked just a little too much.

At lunch, Mitsuri nudged Obanai. “Have you noticed?” she whispered, glancing at Giyuu across the cafeteria.

Obanai’s lip twitched. “He smells like a mix of weed and cheap cologne again.”

Sanemi snorted. “He’s not fooling anyone.”

Shinobu flicked a glance at Giyuu as he sauntered by, eyes glazed and smile crooked. “Someone’s definitely been drinking.”

None of them said anything to Giyuu directly—how do you?
How do you tell your friend that he’s slipping away?

Later that day, Giyuu and Douma sat behind the bleachers, sharing a cigarette and secrets.

Douma’s hand rested lightly on Giyuu’s arm. “You’re mine now,” he murmured, voice low and honeyed.

Giyuu blinked, the glow of the smoke making his eyes seem too big, too lost.

“Yeah,” he whispered back, “I think I’m yours.”

This chapter is all about that heartbreak, the feeling of losing yourself but still trying to hold on. The Hashira’s worry is real, but Giyuu’s already slipping deeper.
(Sabito’s POV)

Giyuu’s footsteps faded down the hall like someone closing a door on the wrong decade of their life. Sabito stood in the fluorescent hum of the bathroom forever longer than he should have, hands clenched so hard his knuckles ached.

He watched his brother go, and the world snapped sideways.

They used to laugh about stupid things—about who could eat the most instant ramen, about the stupid cartoons they watched at two in the morning when Muzan fell asleep on the couch. Those small bright things were all Sabito had left of their mother. The rest was a smear of pill bottles and a night that smelled like spilled whiskey and cheap perfume.

She used to be alive and sloppy and laughing too loud, until she wasn’t. She was high the whole last year. So high she forgot her own name half the time. So high she missed the signs. She missed the colors in her son’s face when he fought to breathe. And then he was born and she wasn’t there to hold him.

They told him she died because her body couldn’t take it. The pills did the rest. Muzan said words like “fragile” and “medical,” but Sabito remembers the broken glass of the bedside table and the empty bottles like memorials. He remembers the sound of Muzan trying not to cry when he covered her mouth to stop her vomiting. He remembers the clean, white hospital smell when they took her away.

If Giyuu became that—if Giyuu became a ghost of a person who could be forgotten because he chose the bottle over breath—Sabito didn’t know if he could survive that kind of loss twice.

He pushed his palms against the cold sink until his nails bit skin. “No,” he whispered to the empty bathroom, like that would change anything. “You’re not going to do this to me. You’re not going to do this to him.”

The anger softened into something colder—clearer. He thought of promises, of small printed vows you say in your head when nothing else is left. He thought of watching Giyuu sleep across from him at some cheap motel because Muzan had been working a double and couldn’t afford a babysitter. He thought of every time he’d laughed at Giyuu’s dumb jokes and how he’d always—always—been the one to pick him up off the floor.

Sabito left the bathroom with a decision firm as a broken bone. He would not let history repeat. He would not stand by and watch the same spiral erase his brother.

He’d call in favors. He’d show up at school and haunt the corners of the cafeteria until someone noticed. He’d get angry. He’d get loud. He’d do whatever it took.

Because this time, he wouldn’t be the kid who stayed quiet and watched.
This time, he would be violent with his love if he had to.

And if Douma tried to tear him away—well, Sabito could be worse.

He ran, not to catch up but to plan. To take the map of Giyuu’s nights and burn it down.

Chapter Text

The swings creaked like broken bones, chains squeaking against the midnight breeze. Giyuu sat cross-legged in the mulch, eyeliner smudged, cigarette dangling too close to his fingers while Douma and a couple of his glitter-lipped followers giggled around a half-empty bottle.

Sabito’s car headlights cut through the dark like judgment. He didn’t bother parking straight—he was out of the car before the engine even stopped, sneakers pounding against gravel.

“Giyuu!” His voice cracked across the park. Heads turned, smirks curled. Douma raised his brows, lazy and amused, like he’d been waiting for this exact show.

Giyuu squinted up at him, pupils too wide, lips curling into a crooked smile.
“Ohhh look who it is. Big brother, the babysitter.” He laughed, sloppy and harsh, and leaned back like he was on a throne of mulch.

Sabito didn’t hesitate. He stormed across, grabbed Giyuu’s wrist so hard the cigarette fell from his hand, and yanked him up. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Get off me!” Giyuu’s voice cracked high, part fury, part fear. He shoved, twisted, but Sabito’s grip was iron.

The little crowd ooo’d like it was an episode of reality TV. Douma leaned against the swingset, swirling the bottle lazily.
“Heyyy, let the kid breathe, man,” he drawled. “We’re just vibin’.”

“Shut the fuck up, Douma,” Sabito snapped, eyes burning into his brother instead. “Do you even hear yourself, Giyuu? You smell like a damn ashtray!”

Giyuu’s face twisted, tears shining under the streetlight but not falling. He screamed, voice raw:
“You don’t get it! You don’t get to control me, Sabito! I’m not a kid anymore—I can do whatever the fuck I want!”

“You’re thirteen, Giyuu!” Sabito roared back, dragging him toward the car as Giyuu thrashed and kicked. “You’re a kid! And if you keep this shit up you’re gonna end up in the ground like Mom!”

That froze the laughter from the group. Even Douma’s smirk slipped a fraction. Giyuu stiffened, chest heaving, pupils shaking. Then he shrieked, guttural and pained, tears finally spilling:
“Don’t talk about her! Don’t you ever—EVER—talk about her!”

Sabito didn’t stop pulling him, even as Giyuu clawed at his arm, screaming so loud his throat sounded shredded. He shoved him into the passenger seat of the car, slammed the door, and leaned his forehead against the roof for half a second—just enough to breathe—before circling to the driver’s side.

The park was silent now, except for Douma’s slow clap, mocking and sharp. “Bravo, big brother,” he sang. “But trust me—this story’s just getting good.”

Sabito didn’t answer. He drove off into the night, knuckles white on the steering wheel, Giyuu’s muffled sobs filling the car.
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Flashback: Sabito’s POV

The road blurred into streaks of yellow. Giyuu’s ragged breathing filled the car, but Sabito’s mind was already gone, slipping down a hallway he swore he’d bricked over years ago.

He was twelve. Maybe younger. He couldn’t tell anymore.

The apartment had smelled like sour wine and something chemical he didn’t know the name for yet. Pills scattered like candy across the counter. He remembered standing on his toes, staring at the little white circles, wondering if they were what made her laugh too loud and sleep too long.

She’d been on the couch, lipstick smudged, eyes half-lidded like she was in a dream she couldn’t wake up from.
“Sabiiitooo,” she’d sing-song, voice stretched thin. “Be a good boy and get mommy her glass.”

He did. He always did. A plastic cup, cloudy with dish stains, filled with cheap vodka she didn’t even bother hiding. He handed it to her with both hands because his fingers were still small.

She smiled with painted lips, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t reach the eyes.
“That’s my boy. Always takin’ care of me.”

He hated that line. Even then. Because wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around?

Later, when Muzan came home—face tight, hands shaking—he’d scoop up the bottles and shove them under the sink, slam the pills into a drawer. He’d tell Sabito not to look. Not to remember. But Sabito remembered everything.

The nights she stumbled so hard she split her lip on the bathroom sink.
The mornings she forgot his name and called him “little one.”
The day she pressed her palm to her swollen stomach, promising this time she’d get better—for the baby. For them.

And then she didn’t.

Sabito gripped the wheel harder, the memory dissolving like smoke in his lungs. He blinked, saw the streak of tears on Giyuu’s face in the passenger seat, eyeliner smeared to ash.

For a second, Sabito saw her instead—slumped, painted, fading.
And he swore, again, with the taste of vodka still ghosting his tongue, that he would never let his brother become her.

Chapter Text

The front door clicked open, soft enough that it shouldn’t’ve woken anyone. But Muzan was already in the living room, shirt sleeves rolled up, paperwork spread out on the coffee table like a crime scene. His tie hung loose around his neck, and the glow of the desk lamp carved deep shadows into his face.

He looked up when he heard the door, eyes sharp but exhausted.
“Where were you two?”
His voice wasn’t loud—but it carried that kind of weight that made Giyuu’s stomach twist.

Sabito hesitated, one hand still on the doorknob. “Just… out. Needed some air.”
He didn’t meet Muzan’s eyes, and that was rare. Sabito never lied to him.

Muzan sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s past midnight, Sabito. You know I can’t—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind. I’ve had a long day. Just go upstairs, both of you. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

The tension loosened—barely. Sabito nodded once, grabbed Giyuu’s wrist again, but softer this time, and led him up the creaky stairs.

They didn’t speak until they hit the top floor.
Then everything detonated.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Sabito snapped, spinning around the second their bedroom door closed. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you? You were with people who don’t even care if you live or die!”

Giyuu flinched but fired right back, slurred and sharp, “You don’t get it! You think you know everything about me just because you’re older? You don’t!”

Sabito laughed—but it was the kind of laugh that cracked halfway through. “Oh, I don’t? Because I’ve been the one keeping this family together since she died, and now you’re out there acting like you wanna follow her! You wanna end up like her, Giyuu?!”

“Stop saying that!” Giyuu yelled, voice breaking. “Stop talking about her like she’s some monster! You didn’t love her like I did!”

Sabito’s words caught in his throat, the heat of them burning away into something raw. He stepped closer, shaking his head.
“She loved you,” he whispered, voice trembling now. “She loved you so much it killed her. And I’m not gonna let you do the same thing.”

For a second, neither of them moved. Just the sound of their breathing, jagged and too loud in the small room.

Then Giyuu turned away, wiping his face with his sleeve, voice small and tired.
“Then maybe you should just let me be, Sabito. Maybe I’m not worth saving.”

Sabito’s chest ached, but he didn’t have words left. He just stared at his little brother—the messy eyeliner, the shaking hands, the look of someone who didn’t know how to stop running.

And somewhere downstairs, Muzan sighed, the sound of another paper being crumpled echoing through the house.

Chapter Text

The house was too quiet after the shouting started.
Muzan had been staring at the same file for fifteen minutes, words swimming into nonsense on the page. His hand hovered over his pen, shaking slightly.

Then he heard it.

“—you wanna end up like her, Giyuu?!”

The pen rolled off the table. Muzan froze. That name. That tone.
He stood slowly, each step toward the stairs weighted like walking through mud.

Upstairs, the voices cracked again.

“Stop saying that!”
“You didn’t love her like I did!”
“She loved you so much it killed her!”

And that’s when something in Muzan snapped.

He didn’t remember climbing the stairs. Just the sound of his own pulse roaring in his ears and the trembling doorknob under his hand. He pushed it open.

Giyuu was standing there—eyes red, eyeliner smeared, chest heaving—while Sabito looked like he’d just been through a war. They both turned, mid-breath, when they saw him.

“Muzan—” Sabito started, voice low, guilty.

But Muzan didn’t speak at first. He just looked between them, between Giyuu’s trembling fingers and the smell of smoke still clinging to his clothes. His jaw tightened.

“What,” he finally said, quiet but lethal, “did you just say?”

Giyuu swallowed hard, eyes darting anywhere but his father.
“It’s nothing, Dad. Just… just drop it.”

“Drop it?” Muzan’s voice broke—cracked like glass. “You come home smelling like this, looking like this, screaming about her, and you think I can just drop it?”

Giyuu’s lip quivered, but his voice was sharp: “You don’t even talk about her! You pretend she didn’t exist!”

Muzan’s breath hitched. “Because every time I do, it feels like she’s dying all over again!”
The words ripped out of him, louder than he meant.
And for a moment—everything stopped.

Sabito’s eyes widened. Giyuu blinked, stunned, his anger faltering.

Muzan stepped closer, his voice trembling now, softer but shaking with everything he’d been holding in for years.
“She was the love of my life. And I watched her fall apart right in front of me, and I couldn’t stop it. And now—”
He reached out, hand trembling as it hovered near Giyuu’s shoulder.
“Now I’m watching you go the same way.”

Giyuu’s face crumpled, but he jerked away, whispering, “Then maybe you should’ve tried harder.”

Muzan froze. The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Sabito swore under his breath, but it was too late. The damage was done.

Muzan dropped his hand, looking down at the floor. His voice was a whisper, thin and broken.
“I tried every day. You just don’t remember.”

He turned and walked out before they could see him cry.

Giyuu stood there, shaking. Sabito just watched the door close, the weight of everything pressing down until it felt like the walls themselves were sighing.

The house went quiet again. But this time, it wasn’t peace.
It was the kind of silence that comes after an earthquake—when everyone’s just waiting to see what’s still standing.
Giyuu’s alarm hadn’t even gone off. His hand shot out instinctively to grab his bag, tossing in notebooks and pencils like an afterthought. His clothes were on, eyeliner smudged from last night but somehow perfect in the early morning light.

He padded to the window, heart hammering. Outside, the black lowrider sat gleaming in the driveway, Douma leaning casually against it, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on his nose like he was royalty waiting for his subject.

“Finally,” Douma drawled, voice low, teasing. “Thought you’d sleep through life again.”

Giyuu swallowed hard, gripping the strap of his backpack. “I… yeah. I’m ready.”

Douma smirked. “Good. We’re leaving early. Eight o’clock? That’s for squares. We’ve got better things to do. Ever tried Zaza at sunrise?”

Giyuu blinked. Heart racing. “Uh… no…”

“Exactly.” Douma leaned closer, voice velvet and dangerous. “That’s why we leave now. Trust me, once you try it…”

Giyuu’s stomach twisted in equal parts fear and thrill. He knew school started in an hour. He knew this was wrong. And yet… he wanted it. He needed it.

He stepped out the door, bag slung over his shoulder, and slid into the passenger seat. The engine rumbled low, like a beast waking. Douma revved it, and the lowrider rolled forward, tires spinning softly on the asphalt.

The sunrise painted the sky orange and purple, and for a moment, Giyuu felt invincible.

And completely on the edge.
The lowrider’s engine hummed like a heartbeat as Douma cruised down empty streets. Giyuu sat in the passenger seat, bag still over his shoulder, fingers drumming on the leather, pupils wide and unfocused. The faint smell of smoke lingered in the car, curling around the faint, sticky smell of Zaza.

“Relax,” Douma said, leaning back, one hand on the wheel. “You’re fine. You’re free.”

Giyuu blinked. The trees outside shimmered like they were breathing. Every streetlight glared at him. His stomach was tight, heart hammering, and the world felt both enormous and crushing all at once.

“Yeah…” he murmured, voice small, high, shaky. “I… yeah, I’m fine.”

They smoked in silence for a while, the kind of quiet that’s only possible when your brain is scrambled enough that words are optional. Giyuu could barely feel where his body ended and the seat began.

Time slipped. Minutes blurred. He looked at his hands and thought they weren’t his. The steering wheel was moving Douma somewhere else entirely, past streets he didn’t recognize.

Finally, the car screeched into the school parking lot. Douma pushed the door open. “School, baby. Let’s go.”

Giyuu stumbled out, head spinning. The asphalt beneath his feet felt like quicksand. He adjusted his bag strap, heart thudding against his ribs. Sabito wasn’t there to scold him, wasn’t there to grab him and drag him back to reality.

Instead… he ran right into Sanemi.

“Giyuu?” Sanemi’s brow shot up. His eyes flicked over Giyuu’s smudged eyeliner, disheveled hair, and the faint haze of smoke clinging to him. “Dude… what the hell happened to you?”

Giyuu blinked, disoriented. “I… I’m fine,” he said, but the words tasted wrong.

Sanemi stepped closer, frowning. “You don’t look fine. You look like… like—shit, man, you look high.”

Giyuu’s chest tightened. He knew Sanemi would tell Sabito if he found out. If anyone told Sabito, the entire world would collapse. The words of his older brother from last night echoed in his head: “You’re thirteen. You’re a kid!”

“Leave me alone,” Giyuu muttered, trying to keep his voice low, though it cracked. He tried to sidestep Sanemi, but the energy around him was electric, like the friend group was watching, judging, seeing the spiral he couldn’t stop.

Sanemi grabbed his shoulder lightly, firm but not mean. “Hey. Look at me, Giyuu. You’re messing up, and I’m not gonna let you destroy yourself. Not like this.”

Giyuu’s lips pressed together. He wanted to shout, to argue, to push him away—but the haze was thick, the paranoia twisting. Every word felt like a tether he didn’t want to hold. He pulled free, stumbling toward the school doors, heart pounding like a drum in a horror movie.

Sanemi stood still, frowning. He knew something was very wrong—but without Sabito, there was only so much he could do.

The Hashira friend group loomed in the background, a blur of whispers, laughter, and sideways glances. And Giyuu… Giyuu felt more alone than ever, even surrounded by people who cared.

Chapter Text

Giyuu leaned against the bathroom sink, water running over his hands, trying to splash some sense back into his brain. He blinked. Hard. One… two… three times.

When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting in fifth period Algebra. The fluorescent lights buzzed above, pencils scratching, chairs creaking. His head lolled to the side, and for a split second he swore he could feel the equations on the board moving, like they were alive.

Oh no.

His stomach flipped. He leaned back in his chair, trying to steady himself. The world was spinning in slow motion, the numbers on the board twisting and curling. He felt the faint sting of panic creep up his throat. Oh God, I’m stoned. I’m so high. Everyone’s gonna notice.

He glanced around. Everyone was typing, writing, staring at the board like normal people, like nothing was wrong.

“Giyuu?” The teacher’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and loud.

He jerked upright, knocking his pencil to the floor. Shit shit shit.

“Yes… yes… I’m fine,” he stammered, cheeks burning. His hands trembled slightly as he tried to grab the pencil. Every motion felt like moving underwater.

The room smelled too strong—cleaner, paper, faint perfume—and his heart was hammering. He tried to focus on the numbers: x + 7 = 12. Easy. Easy.

But no matter how hard he tried, the letters and numbers twisted in his vision, laughing at him.

I can’t do this. I can’t be here.

His chest tightened, and he realized—he wasn’t just high. He was trapped. High, panicked, and totally alone.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice whispered: This is what you’ve chosen, Giyuu.

And he wanted to punch it.
Giyuu’s head throbbed. The numbers from Algebra were still dancing behind his eyes, twisting like they were alive, mocking him. His heart hammered against his ribs, fast and uneven, like a panic drum.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

He could feel it coming, that shift—the way the air would warp, the world would tilt, the floor would vanish, and suddenly… he’d be somewhere else. Somewhere familiar, somewhere safe. Or somewhere terrifying.

What if I just blink… and I’m gone?

His chest tightened, sweat prickling along his neck. Every sound was too loud—the scraping of pencils, the hum of fluorescent lights, his own ragged breathing. His fingers clawed at the desk, trying to hold onto the world, trying to hold onto something solid, anything solid.

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t…

He blinked.

And suddenly, he was in his bedroom.
The walls were close, suffocating. Posters on the wall blurred like watercolors. The moonlight spilled across the floor, cold and alien. He dropped onto his bed, gripping the sheets, trying to control his breathing.

Okay. Okay. I’m home. I’m safe.

But the panic didn’t leave. His chest heaved. Sweat dripped into his eyes. The smell of smoke, lingering from last night, made him gag. The world was still tilting, still spinning, still… untrustworthy.

He pressed his hands over his eyes, whispering to himself like a prayer:
“Stop. Stop. Stop.”

But it didn’t. Nothing stopped.

He was trapped inside his own head, a little kid again, alone, terrified, spiraling—like the world could swallow him whole with just one blink.

And he was powerless to stop it.
Scene: Seeking Sanemi

Giyuu stumbled down the street, backpack half-slung, hands trembling. The world still tilted slightly with every step, the streetlights bleeding into halos around him. His chest ached and sweat stuck to his hairline.

He stopped outside Sanemi’s house, trying to calm himself, to breathe, but every inhale felt too sharp. His fingers fumbled against the doorknob. What if he laughs? What if he tells Sabito? What if he thinks I’m insane?

Giyuu pressed a hand to his chest. I just… need help. Please. Just help me.

He knocked, softly at first, then louder as the panic threatened to spiral.

“Giyuu?” Sanemi’s voice came from inside. Calm. Grounded.

The door opened, and Sanemi’s eyes immediately widened when he took in Giyuu’s appearance: smudged eyeliner, hair sticking up, backpack hanging at a weird angle, hands shaking. The faint smell of smoke still clung to him.

“Holy shit,” Sanemi said, stepping aside. “Come in.”

Giyuu stumbled inside, barely able to speak. Words came out in broken bursts, like shards of glass:
“I… I can’t… I just… it’s spinning… it won’t stop…”

Sanemi didn’t say anything. He led Giyuu to the couch, guided him down, and sat next to him, placing a hand lightly on his back. Not too firm, not too soft—just enough to anchor him.

“You’re okay,” Sanemi said gently. “I’ve got you. We’ll fix this.”

Giyuu’s shoulders shook, and he buried his face in his hands. “I don’t want to be like… like her. I can’t—I can’t—I…”

Sanemi rubbed his back, calm but insistent. “You’re not her, Giyuu. You’re not alone. Just breathe. One step at a time.”

The panic didn’t vanish. It couldn’t. But for the first time in hours—or maybe days—Giyuu felt a tiny tether to the real world. A lifeline he didn’t have to fight for alone.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Giyuu’s stomach twisted into knots that felt like barbed wire. His vision spun, the walls of Sanemi’s house bleeding and warping around him. He clutched his backpack, trying to find something solid to anchor himself, but every breath came ragged, every heartbeat felt like a drum in his skull.

Then he heard it.

Footsteps. Heavy, familiar. Laughing. Voices from downstairs.

The Hashira.

Panic shot through him hotter than fire. He pressed himself against the wall, hands shaking, stomach churning, head spinning like a carousel that wouldn’t stop. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. They’re here. They’re here. They’re going to see me like this. They’re going to see me like this.

He gagged slightly, turning his face away from the wall. The nausea clawed at his throat. He couldn’t breathe right. His vision flickered—one moment Sanemi’s calm, grounding presence, the next moment he imagined them all seeing him, judging, whispering.

They’ll tell Sabito. They’ll tell Muzan. They’ll—

Giyuu’s mind fractured into a million tiny panicked shards. He wanted to shrink, to disappear, to melt into the floorboards. Every heartbeat echoed, every sound was amplified. The laughter downstairs—he imagined it turning sharp and cruel, directed right at him.

He grabbed the edge of the couch for balance, eyes wide, trembling. “I… I can’t… I can’t…” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but it shook the room.

Sanemi’s hand was on his back, steadying, grounding. “Giyuu,” he said softly but firmly. “You’re okay. Just breathe. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

But Giyuu couldn’t stop the spinning. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to vanish. He wanted the world to stop moving, stop judging, stop existing.

And for the first time in a long time, he realized: he couldn’t fix this by himself.
Giyuu’s hands trembled so violently that he couldn’t even hold onto the edge of the couch. His stomach churned, head spinning faster than the world could keep up with, and every heartbeat felt like it was pounding against his skull.

He tried to blink it away, tried to ground himself, but it was too much. The voices downstairs—the Hashira laughing, talking—echoed through him like a drumbeat he couldn’t escape.

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t…

And then his knees gave out.

His vision blurred, the room tilted like it was folding in on itself, and his body finally betrayed him. Giyuu collapsed forward, hitting the floor with a dull thud. His backpack spilled, papers scattered, and a faint smell of smoke lingered around him.

Sanemi lunged forward, catching him just in time to keep him from hitting his head too hard. “Giyuu! Stay with me! Don’t do this!”

But it was too late. His eyelids fluttered once, twice, and then he went limp, passed out cold.

From downstairs, the other Hashira arrived, peering into the room. Their eyes widened in shock, whispering among themselves. Some froze, some gasped. They had seen it. Everything—the high, the panic, the mess, the spiral—they had witnessed the full scope of what had been happening.

Sanemi’s hands were firm on Giyuu’s shoulders, shaking slightly. “You guys… he needs help. Now.”

The room was silent except for the faint rattle of Giyuu’s breathing, shallow and uneven. For the first time, the reality of his spiral hit everyone in the chest like a punch.

This wasn’t just a phase. This wasn’t just bad choices. This was serious.

And Giyuu… Giyuu had just hit rock bottom.
The sterile smell of antiseptic hit Giyuu first. The white walls, the soft hum of machines, the beeping—it all felt unreal, like he was somewhere between a nightmare and reality.

Then he saw them.

Sabito, sitting stiffly in the chair, eyes red and worried.
Muzan, standing near the doorway, tie loosened, jaw tight, exhaustion written into every line of his face.

Giyuu’s chest tightened, and suddenly everything broke.

“No! No! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” he screamed, his voice cracking. He scrambled off the bed, his legs shaking as he threw himself at them. His hands clutched Sabito’s jacket and Muzan’s arm, gripping like his life depended on it.

“Please! Don’t be mad! I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to—”

His breaths came fast, shallow, hyperventilating. Tears streaked down his cheeks, smudging eyeliner into messy rivers. The guilt, fear, and panic all collided into a single, raw tidal wave.

Sabito froze for a moment, then wrapped his arms around Giyuu, holding him tight. “Shhh… hey… it’s okay, little brother. I’ve got you.”

Muzan’s expression softened, exhaustion giving way to concern. He knelt beside them, one hand on Giyuu’s back. “Giyuu… look at me. You’re okay now. You’re safe. You’re alive, and that’s what matters.”

Giyuu hiccupped, shaking against them. “I’m… I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean… I just—”

Sabito rubbed his back gently. “I know. I know you didn’t mean to. But you can’t do this alone anymore. Do you hear me? You don’t have to. Not ever.”

Muzan nodded, voice low but steady. “We’re here, Giyuu. Always.”

Giyuu buried his face into their shoulders, still trembling, but for the first time in weeks, maybe months, there was a flicker of relief. Somewhere under all the panic and guilt, he felt… safe.

The hospital room was quiet except for his ragged breathing and the soft murmur of his father and brother holding him. And in that quiet, messy, teary moment, Giyuu realized he wasn’t alone.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

The lowrider rolled through the streets, the engine rumbling like thunder. Inside, the Hashira were gripping Sanemi from every angle, trying to hold him back.

“Sanemi, stop!” one shouted.

“No! He’s selling to kids! He’s dangerous!” Sanemi growled, muscles taut, hands clawing at the air like he could rip it apart.

The car screeched to a halt outside Douma’s place. Sanemi ripped open the door, still thrashing against the Hashira holding him back. “Let me go!”

“You’re gonna get arrested!” someone yelled.

“I DON’T CARE!” Sanemi screamed, shoving past them, adrenaline and rage making him feel unstoppable.

Inside, Douma didn’t even flinch at first. Calm, smug, leaned back like he knew the storm was coming. But the second Sanemi hit him—like a force of nature—Douma’s grin faltered.

Sanemi didn’t hold back. He was everywhere at once, a whirlwind of fists and rage, striking Douma like he was the embodiment of every bad choice Giyuu had made. Every punch, every shove, was laced with anger, fear, and a brotherly protective fury that no one dared interrupt.

The Hashira were yelling, trying to hold him off, but even they could feel the storm. “This… is… insane!” one gasped.

Douma staggered, finally realizing that Sanemi wasn’t just some kid trying to get high or angry—this was someone willing to destroy him to protect his friend. And part of the punchline? Douma was the kid. Selling, corrupting, leading Giyuu into danger—he was the very thing Sanemi had trained himself to fight against.

By the time the chaos settled—if you could call it that—Douma was bruised, disheveled, winded, and very, very aware that he had underestimated the Hashira’s wrath. Sanemi, panting, finally let the others pull him back. His hands were still shaking, knuckles red and raw.

“You… you’re not touching Giyuu again,” he spat through gritted teeth.

The Hashira exchanged uneasy looks, still holding him back. They didn’t know whether to be scared, impressed, or just pray the cops didn’t show up.

And somewhere in the back of their minds… they all knew this was far from over.

Chapter Text

So I had been planning this announcement for a while, but it had seemed to slip out of my mind so here it is everyone.
Burnt at the Edges is going to have more chapters!!! YAY!
I'm so very greatful to the people that read my work and leave such positive reviews. Thank you and enjoy!