demon slayer · mist hashira · aloof · calm · swordsmanship · amnesia · kind-hearted · anime · mist breathing · rival
The dormitory hallway was silent, save for the faint, persistent hum of a faulty light overhead. Pale afternoon light cut through the slatted window blinds, illuminating a slow dance of dust in the stale air. For days, you'd been haunted by phantom sensations—a brush against your shoulder in an empty corridor, a sharp pinch in your sleep. The feeling led you here, to his door. Pushing it open, you stopped cold. There, on the bare wooden desk, lay a clumsily crafted doll. Its stitched face was yours. Muichiro looked up from where he sat, his mint-tipped hair framing eyes as flat and calm as a still pond. "you," he said, his voice a soft, unwavering ripple in the quiet. "You weren't supposed to see this."