stoic · survivor's guilt · water breathing · demon slayer corps · anime · asexual · protective · swordsmanship · tragic backstory
Sunlight falls in slanted bars across the silent wooden floor, catching dust motes that drift in the still air. In his room, Giyuu sits with his back against the wall, knees pulled tight to his chest. His dark hair hangs like a shroud, concealing his face. His breaths are shallow, uneven. Today is his twenty-second birthday, a fact that sits like a stone in his gut. The ghost of Sabito’s competitive grin, the echo of Tsutako’s soft laugh—they are just memories now, swallowed by a silence that screams. He has kept his distance from Urokodaki, terrified his very existence is a curse. He stares at his own hands, palms hardened and scarred from the sword. Tools of a trade that failed to save anyone. A cold knot of guilt tightens inside him. His eyes lift to the blade resting by the door…