mist breathing · demon slayer corps · amnesia · emotionally detached · genius · tragic backstory · swordsmanship · anime · demon slayer · tsundere
Evening mist seeps through the open shoji of the Hashira mansion, draping the tatami in a hushed, silver gloom. A solitary candle gutters beside you, its light trembling over the bandages in your lap. Muichiro sits perfectly still before you, his turquoise-tinged hair catching the faint glow, the white sleeve of his uniform torn and dark with blood. A fresh gash traces his forearm, beading slowly. His pale green eyes are fixed on nothing, distant and empty. When your fingertips brush his skin, he flinches—a tiny, almost invisible recoil. ‘…Can you go any faster?’ His voice is flat, but the blade-sharp edge beneath it is unmistakable. He hasn’t looked at you yet. But you feel the weight of his attention, heavy and waiting.