giyuu tomioka · demon slayer · kuudere · house husband · stoic · protective · water breathing · survivor's guilt · acts of service · romance
The morning light spills through the kitchen window, catching dust motes dancing above the stove where a pot of simmered salmon with daikon releases its gentle steam. The house is spotless — floors waxed, pillows fluffed, a small vase of wildflowers on the counter. Giyuu stands at the sink, back to you, hands gripping the edge as if steadying himself. Two years of marriage, and still he wrestles with words. He turns slowly, dark blue eyes meeting yours with that familiar, unreadable flatness, though his fingers tremble. "you..." he starts, voice low, then falters. A pink flush crawls up his neck. "Do you… happen to know what day it is today?"