The early morning light filtered through the shoji doors of Giyuu Tomioka's estate, casting soft shadows over the polished wooden floors. It was peaceful—quiet, as always—except for the faint sound of birds chirping outside. Giyuu sat at his usual spot by the low table, his legs folded neatly beneath him as he sipped a cup of tea. In the stillness of the room, he allowed himself a rare moment of calm.

This was his refuge, a place where he could collect his thoughts without the constant barrage of opinions, arguments, and chaos that had surrounded him for the past few weeks.

Unfortunately, that peace was about to be shattered.

"Oi, Tomioka!"

Sanemi's voice echoed through the house, the door sliding open with a sharp thud as he stormed into the room. He was dressed in his usual uniform, his white hair as wild as ever, and his expression set in a deep scowl. Behind him, like a shadow, was Tengen Uzui, whose brightly colored... everything seemed to fill the room with energy that Giyuu found both exhausting and overwhelming.

Giyuu sighed softly, setting his cup of tea down. So much for a quiet morning.

"What is it?" Giyuu asked, his voice even and calm, though he already had a sinking feeling about what was coming.

Sanemi wasted no time getting to the point. "We need to talk about the suits."

Giyuu raised an eyebrow. "Suits?"

"For the wedding," Sanemi clarified, his tone sharp as he threw himself down onto the cushion across from Giyuu. "We need to figure out what the hell we're going to wear."

Giyuu blinked, clearly taken aback. He hadn't given much thought to what they would wear. In fact, he'd assumed it wouldn't be a big deal. A simple haori, maybe something clean and formal, nothing extravagant. It wasn't like they needed to make a spectacle of themselves.

"Does it really matter?" Giyuu asked quietly, his brow furrowing. "We could just wear—"

Before he could finish, Tengen cut in with an exaggerated wave of his hand. "Of course it matters, Giyuu!" he exclaimed, his voice booming. "This is your wedding! You can't just show up in your usual drab attire and call it a day."

Giyuu's brow furrowed slightly at the word drab, but he didn't respond, choosing instead to sip his tea in silence.

Sanemi, on the other hand, seemed caught between frustration and agreement. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going. "Look, I don't give a damn about all that flashy crap, but we can't look like we just rolled out of bed."

Tengen nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! You both need to make a statement. Something bold. Something flashy. "

"I don't want flashy," Giyuu said, his voice soft but firm. "Something simple is fine."

Tengen's grin widened as if Giyuu hadn't said a word. "Leave it to me. I've already got some ideas, and trust me, they're going to make you both look incredible. You'll be the talk of the century."

Sanemi shot Giyuu a warning look, as if to say this is your fault, but Giyuu only shrugged. He hadn't invited Tengen into this mess, but somehow, the Sound Hashira had managed to insert himself into every part of the wedding planning. And now, it seemed, he had taken it upon himself to handle their attire.

"I'm not wearing anything bedazzled," Sanemi growled, crossing his arms over his chest. "So whatever you've got planned, forget it."

Tengen let out a laugh, clearly unfazed by Sanemi's threat. "Don't worry, Shinazugawa. I know your style. We'll keep it classy—but with a little extra flair."

Sanemi's eyes narrowed, clearly not liking the sound of that.

Before Sanemi could protest further, Tengen reached into the large bag he'd brought with him and began pulling out several fabric swatches, holding them up for inspection. "These are just samples," Tengen explained, waving one brightly colored swatch in front of Sanemi's face. "I'm thinking something bold and elegant, with strong lines and—"

Sanemi grabbed the fabric out of Tengen's hand, his face twisting in disgust as he looked at it. " This ? This is what you think I should wear?"

Tengen grinned. "It'll bring out your eyes."

Sanemi crumpled the fabric in his fist. "I'll shove it down your throat."

Giyuu, watching the exchange with mild amusement, took another sip of his tea. As much as he didn't care for flashy outfits, it was always entertaining to see Sanemi try—and fail—to argue with Tengen. It was like watching a hurricane fight a typhoon.

But despite his quiet demeanor, Giyuu knew that they did need to figure out what to wear. The wedding was fast approaching, and while he didn't care about the details, he also didn't want to leave it all to chance—especially if Tengen was involved.

"Maybe we could start with something simple," Giyuu suggested, his tone calm as always. "And go from there."

Tengen shot him a look, clearly unimpressed with the idea of "simple," but before he could argue, Sanemi nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, let's go simple," Sanemi grumbled, tossing the fabric swatch back into the pile. "No need to turn this into some kind of damn fashion show."

Tengen sighed dramatically, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of their lack of fashion sense was too much to bear. "Fine, fine. We'll start simple. But don't say I didn't warn you when your wedding photos are boring as hell."

Giyuu said nothing, opting to let Tengen complain all he wanted. He was far more concerned with getting through this process without losing his mind—or worse, getting into a wrestling match with Sanemi over something as ridiculous as a suit.

Sanemi Shinazugawa never thought he'd care about something as trivial as wedding attire. He was a man of practicality—a warrior who spent his days fighting demons and keeping the world from falling apart. But as he stood in front of a long mirror, glaring at the pile of fabric draped over his arm, he couldn't deny that this particular wedding detail was bothering him.

"I'm not wearing this," he growled, throwing the suit jacket onto the floor with a look of absolute disgust. The jacket, which was covered in enough sequins to blind someone in direct sunlight, glittered offensively at him from the polished wood floor.

Tengen Uzui, their self-appointed stylist and wedding planner extraordinaire, grinned as he leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. His own outfit—an over-the-top ensemble of gold and black fabric with intricate embroidery—looked as though it belonged on the runway of a fashion show rather than at a wedding.

"Come on, Shinazugawa," Tengen said, flashing his signature smirk. "You've got to admit, it's flashy. "

Sanemi's eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. "I don't want flashy. I want something that doesn't make me look like a damn disco ball."

Tengen waved his hand dismissively. "You're thinking too small. This is your wedding day! It's the one time you get to wear something that's memorable. You'll thank me when everyone's talking about how amazing you both looked."

"I don't give a damn what anyone thinks," Sanemi snapped, his temper flaring. "I'm not wearing that."

Giyuu Tomioka, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, observing the chaos with his usual stoic expression, glanced over at Sanemi. He was still wearing the haori he'd arrived in, though a new, simpler one was draped over his arm—one of several identical haori he was currently deciding between. His face betrayed no emotion as he watched Sanemi and Tengen's escalating argument, but inwardly, he was relieved that the focus wasn't on him for once.

"You don't like sequins?" Giyuu asked quietly, his tone so neutral that it almost sounded like genuine curiosity.

Sanemi shot him a glare. "Do I look like I like sequins?"

Giyuu considered this for a moment, then shook his head. "No."

"Exactly." Sanemi turned back to Tengen, his jaw clenched. "I want something simple. No sparkles, no embroidery, no nonsense."

Tengen sighed dramatically, clearly disappointed by Sanemi's lack of enthusiasm for fashion. "You're killing me here, Shinazugawa. Where's your sense of style?"

"Style?" Sanemi barked out a harsh laugh. "I'm not here to make a fashion statement. I just want to look good enough that no one talks about me for the rest of my life."

"You should embrace the attention," Tengen countered, pushing himself off the wall and walking over to where Sanemi stood. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime event! You don't want to blend into the background."

Sanemi's eye twitched. "If it's flashy, I'm not wearing it."

The tension between the two of them was palpable. Tengen, ever the advocate of flamboyance and spectacle, wasn't one to back down when it came to matters of fashion. And Sanemi, with his short temper and disdain for anything remotely "extra," wasn't about to let Tengen bulldoze him into wearing something ridiculous.

Giyuu, sensing the impending explosion, cleared his throat softly. "Maybe we should... compromise."

Both Tengen and Sanemi turned to look at him, their eyes narrowing in unison. Giyuu held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm just saying. We don't have to go overboard, but we also don't have to wear something too plain."

Tengen raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "See? Even Tomioka gets it. There's no harm in a little bit of flair."

Sanemi, however, wasn't so easily swayed. "Flair is the last thing I need," he muttered, kicking the sequin-covered jacket farther away from him. "I'd rather walk down the aisle in my uniform than wear something like that."

Giyuu glanced at the discarded jacket, then at the array of other suits and outfits that Tengen had brought along for them to try on. His own approach to the situation was much more laid-back—he didn't particularly care what he wore, as long as it was comfortable and didn't attract too much attention. But Sanemi... Sanemi seemed to be taking this much more seriously.

Which was odd, considering how little he'd cared about the other details of the wedding so far.

"You really care about this?" Giyuu asked, his voice soft but curious.

Sanemi hesitated, his eyes flicking to Giyuu's for a brief moment before he scowled and crossed his arms. "Of course I care. This is our wedding, isn't it? I'm not going to look like a clown."

There was an undercurrent of something else in Sanemi's words—something that Giyuu couldn't quite put his finger on. It wasn't just about the suit. Sanemi wanted to look good. He just didn't want to admit how much it mattered to him.

Before Giyuu could respond, Tengen clapped his hands together. "Alright, alright. I get it. No sequins. But that doesn't mean we can't find something stylish for you to wear. Let's try again."

With that, Tengen disappeared into the side room where he had stashed an impressive collection of wedding attire. The sound of shuffling fabric and hangers clinking together echoed through the air as Tengen rummaged through his stash, muttering to himself as he searched for something that would satisfy Sanemi's impossible standards.

Meanwhile, Giyuu turned his attention back to his own dilemma—choosing between two haoris that, to the untrained eye, looked almost identical. Both were simple and understated, made of high-quality fabric in muted shades of blue and black. But for some reason, Giyuu couldn't decide which one to wear.

"Why is this so hard?" Giyuu muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing as he held up the two haoris for what felt like the hundredth time.

Sanemi, who had been watching him out of the corner of his eye, let out a snort. "Are you seriously having a crisis over that?"

Giyuu glanced at him, a flicker of irritation crossing his normally impassive face. "They're... different."

"They look the same to me."

"They're not the same," Giyuu said, holding up the haoris for Sanemi to inspect. "This one has a slightly different weave."

Sanemi blinked, staring at the haoris for a moment before letting out a bark of laughter. "Giyuu, you're ridiculous."

Giyuu frowned, feeling strangely defensive. "It's important."

"To who? "

"To me."

Sanemi rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smirk on his lips as he leaned back in his chair. "You're overthinking it. Just pick one."

Giyuu opened his mouth to argue, but before he could respond, Tengen reappeared, holding up a new outfit for Sanemi to try. This one, thankfully, was much less garish than the previous monstrosity. It was a sleek, dark suit made of fine fabric, with just the right amount of subtle detailing to make it stand out without being over the top.

Sanemi eyed the suit warily, as though expecting it to explode into glitter at any moment. "This better not be another trick."

Tengen grinned. "Trust me, Shinazugawa. This one's perfect."

Sanemi hesitated, then grudgingly took the suit from Tengen and disappeared into the changing area to try it on. Giyuu watched him go, feeling a small sense of relief that the situation seemed to be under control—for the moment, at least.

As Giyuu turned his attention back to his haoris, he couldn't help but wonder why Sanemi was so worked up about this. Sure, it was their wedding day, and it was important to look good, but it wasn't like Sanemi to care so much about something as superficial as clothing. There was something more going on here—something that Sanemi wasn't saying.

Minutes later, Sanemi stepped out of the changing room, dressed in the new suit that Tengen had chosen for him. The dark fabric fit him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame without being too tight or restrictive. The subtle details—such as the embroidery along the collar and the sharp lines of the jacket—added just the right amount of style without crossing the line into flashy territory.

For a moment, Giyuu just stared at him, his usual impassive expression softening ever so slightly. Sanemi looked... good. Really good.

Sanemi, noticing the way Giyuu was looking at him, shifted uncomfortably. "What? Does it look stupid?"

"No," Giyuu said quietly, shaking his head. "It looks... perfect."

Sanemi blinked, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. His eyes flicked to Giyuu, searching for any hint of sarcasm or teasing, but Giyuu's expression was sincere.

"Yeah, well," Sanemi muttered, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to hide the faint blush creeping up his neck, "I'm not wearing this if you show up looking like a mess. So you better figure out your damn haori."

Giyuu glanced down at the two haoris in his hands, then back at Sanemi. For the first time, he felt a small smile tug at the corner of his lips.

"I think I know which one to wear," Giyuu said, his voice soft but certain.

Sanemi raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Which one?"

Giyuu held up one of the haoris—a simple black one with a faint, intricate pattern woven into the fabric. It wasn't flashy, but it had a quiet elegance to it. It was the one that felt... right.

"This one," Giyuu said, meeting Sanemi's eyes. "I think it'll look good next to you."

Sanemi stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. And then, to Giyuu's surprise, he let out a soft huff of laughter.

"You're such a damn sap," Sanemi muttered, but there was no heat behind the words. In fact, there was something almost... fond in his tone.

Giyuu didn't respond, but the small smile remained on his face as he folded the other haori and set it aside.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, the tension between them had eased, replaced by a quiet understanding that didn't need to be spoken aloud. They were different—always had been, always would be—but somehow, they made it work.

And in the end, that was all that mattered.

As they both finished changing into their chosen outfits, Tengen watched from the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest and a smug grin on his face.

"I hate to say I told you so," Tengen said, his voice full of amusement, "but you both look flashy as hell."

Sanemi shot him a look. "Shut up, Uzui."

Tengen laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm just saying. You both clean up pretty well."

Giyuu glanced at Sanemi, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of him standing there, dressed in his suit, looking every bit as sharp and strong as the man he'd come to know—and love.

"You look good," Giyuu said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sanemi's cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn't argue. Instead, he just muttered, "You don't look too bad yourself."

It was a simple exchange—barely more than a few words—but it held a weight that neither of them could deny.

As they stood side by side, their reflections staring back at them from the mirror, they both realized that, for all the chaos and the arguments, this was exactly where they wanted to be.

Together.

And dressed to impress.