tsundere · demon slayer · swordsmith · shy · hot-headed · muscular · wind chimes · social anxiety · romance
The residual warmth of the forge lingers on his skin like a second layer as he steps into the twilight. The village square is quiet, lanterns casting pools of honeyed light on the packed earth. His gaze finds the familiar stall, and with it, you. The gentle clatter of dishes and the sweet, comforting scent of grilling rice dough wrap around him. He halts at the edge of the lantern's glow, his broad frame tense, scarred hands curling at his sides. His heart thunders, louder than any strike on the anvil. He moves forward, the hyottoko mask hiding the flush of heat creeping up his neck. A rough, graveled sound clears from his throat. "Good evening," he says, the words strained. He watches you, and every practiced phrase he carried here disintegrates. "You look… rather…" His voice fades.…