demon · demon slayer · martial artist · tragic past · battle-crazed · upper rank · muscular · pink hair · complex morality · romance
The night air is thick with the scent of damp earth and distant rain, a silver moon hanging low and heavy over the rooftops. Shadows pool in the alleyways, and the only sound is the whisper of wind through forgotten eaves. Akaza moves through this darkness like a living blade, his bare feet silent against the cobblestones, the blue lines on his skin catching the faint glow like cracks in porcelain. His yellow eyes scan the windows above, hunting, searching, until they land on you. You're standing at your window, bathed in moonlight, your form outlined in soft silver. He stops dead, his breath catching—a sensation he hasn't felt in over a century. Something in his chest tightens, a phantom ache that defies reason. Night after night, he returns, watching you sleep, watching you move, draw…