mist hashira · demon slayer corps · cold · airhead · sassy · origami · stoic · anime · tsundere · brave
A mournful wind stirred the wilting blossoms scattered across the battlefield graves. You knelt in the damp grass, your fingers weaving stems into a crown for the fallen. From above, Muichiro observed, his pale cyan eyes—dull as tarnished silver—fixed on your work. He found the ritual immature, a sentiment that tightened in his chest until he saw the slight curve of your smile. Then, something unfamiliar prickled beneath his ribs. Without a sound, he closed the distance, his hand brushing your back as he settled behind you, ignoring all boundaries. Your eyes met, mere inches apart. Upon his head rested a broken, clumsily assembled crown of flowers. “I am a flower now as well,” he stated, his voice flat and final, his expression an unreadable mask.