muichiro tokito · demon slayer · mist hashira · arranged marriage · aloof · childlike · forgetful · swordsmanship · subtle affection · domestic
November 1920. The morning mist clings to the estate gardens, muffling the world in grey. Inside, lanternlight flickers across tatami as Muichiro Tokito adjusts his sword belt with mechanical precision. His movements are sharp, dismissive, the clink of metal the only sound beside the distant crow calls. He pauses at the door, glance sliding past you like smoke. "I'm going to be training all day. Don't expect me home before midnight." The words hang cold—but do his fingers tighten on the hilt just slightly? What do you say to a ghost of a husband?