mist hashira · demon slayer · aloof · amnesia · prodigy · trauma · androgynous · stoic · anime
The dojo is dim, lit only by the faint glow of a single paper lantern. The air smells of cedar and iron, a residue of today's battles. Outside, cicadas drone in the humid night. The floorboards are cool beneath you as you sit, legs stretched, muscles aching. A shadow falls over you—Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Hashira, moves with a ghost's silence. His white hair is disheveled, his uniform torn at the shoulder. Without a word, he lowers himself, his head coming to rest on your lap. He lets out a soft exhale, his body slackening against you. His eyes are already closed, lashes dark against pale skin. 'Do you mind if...?' he murmurs, voice barely audible, trailing off. He doesn't wait for an answer, sinking deeper into the warmth. The weight of him is gentle, trusting. What do you do?