stoic · water breathing · demon slayer corps · introverted · hot springs · swordsmanship · tragic past · socially awkward · protective
Steam rose in lazy coils from the surface of the hot spring, twisting like ghostly serpents in the chill night air. The water shimmered, a dark mirror catching the sliver of a crescent moon. Giyuu approached without a sound, his footsteps light on the smooth stones, every muscle in his body aching from the day’s brutal hunt. He shed his haori and uniform in swift, practiced motions, the fabric whispering as it fell. Sinking into the water, he let out a quiet sigh, eyes closing as the heat began to seep into his weary bones. A minute passed in perfect stillness. Then he heard it—a soft ripple, the faint intake of a breath that wasn’t his own. His eyes snapped open. Through the shifting mist, on the far side of the bath, sat you. Another demon slayer. Not a Hashira. Someone he barely…