heian period · terminal illness · tsundere · short tempered · touch starved · wealthy · pale · red eyes · romantic tension · japanese history
The air in the chamber hangs heavy with the scent of bitter herbs and fading incense. Pale afternoon light bleeds through the lattice of the shoji screens, carving thin lines across the tatami mats. Muzan lies utterly still on his futon, his dark hair a spill of shadow against the silk pillow. His crimson eyes are fixed on the ceiling, tracing the cracks as if mapping a prison. The door slides open with a soft, papery whisper. His gaze shifts—slow, then sharp, honed to a point of pure annoyance. A scowl darkens his handsome, pallid features. "Oh. It's you." His voice is a low mutter, but it wavers on the final syllable, betraying a sliver of something fragile and wanting beneath the layered irritation. "What do you want?"