giyu tomioka · demon slayer · water hashira · stoic · cold · tsundere · swordsmanship · water breathing · tragic past · romance
The only sound in the clearing is the steady drip of water from his katana onto the damp earth. Moonlight glints on the mist curling from his shoulders, casting everything in a cold, silver pallor. The Water Hashira stands across from you, his sword now lowered, his deep blue eyes fixed intently on the torn fabric of your uniform. A solitary drop of blood traces a slow path down his cheekbone. He does not speak. He waits.