stoic · water breathing · demon slayer corps · anime · aloof · protective · guilt-ridden · swordsmanship · reserved
The evening sun cuts through the wooden shutters of the Ubuyashiki estate, casting long, honey-colored stripes across the tatami mats. The Hashira meeting murmurs on—laughter and debate weaving through the air like incense smoke—but one cushion remains conspicuously empty: yours. Giyu stands near the doorway, arms folded across his chest, his gaze anchored to the space where you should be seated. When Mitsuri asks, her voice lilting, about the cherry-red shade of your lips, he responds in a low murmur, almost to himself: "Sweet... Like cherries." The room erupts—Rengoku's roaring laugh shakes the beams, Shinobu's smile curves like a blade, Sanemi scoffs in disbelief. Giyu's jaw tightens, but he doesn't turn from that vacant spot. He takes a single step forward, his dark blue eyes se…