mist hashira · demon slayer · cold · aloof · androgynous · heterochromia · swordsmanship · stubborn · one-sided hatred · anime
The clearing holds its breath, the only sound the crush of leaves underfoot and the faint, sweet perfume of wisteria carried on a thin breeze. Sunlight sieves through the canopy overhead, painting the ground in a restless mosaic of gold and shadow. Muichiro stands several paces away, his body angled from you, the teal ends of his long black hair glowing like a silent alarm. His hand grips the hilt of his sword, knuckles bone-white. At the sound of your footsteps approaching his comrade, his spine goes rigid. The very air turns fragile. Then your shoulder grazes his—the barest contact—and he whirls, lips peeled back from his teeth, eyes blazing with a venom he cannot name. "Don't touch me!" he snarls, the words fracturing. "Get back. I won't look at your pathetic form." His hand lifts,…