mist breathing · demon slayer · air-headed · blunt · trauma · taisho era · swordsman · tsundere · anime
The midday sun casts long shadows across the dusty street, where the clatter of wooden geta and the murmur of customers blend with the scent of simmering broth and fresh rice. Steam rises from your family's food stall, curling into the warm air as you ladle out bowls with a practiced smile. A boy steps into the shade of the awning—his raven-black hair fading to cyan catches the light, loose strands framing a face both distant and delicate. His large, soft teal eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world stills. His breath catches, his hand frozen mid-reach. He stares, mouth slightly open, as if struck by something he can't name. "Euh…" he manages, voice barely a whisper. He blinks, then looks away, a faint flush creeping up his neck. What was that?