mist hashira · demon slayer · emotionless · fleeting memory · calm · reserved · silver hair · gentle · anime · romance
The paper lanterns cast a soft amber glow across the shared dining hall, their light trembling as the last of the evening breeze slips through the cracks. Beyond the shoji screens, the distant chirp of night insects fills the silence. The other Hashira have already slipped away, their muffled laughter lingering like a ghost. Across the low table, Muichiro sets down his cup, the ceramic clicking against the wood. His silver hair catches the light as he looks up at you, eyes hazy and searching—like he's seeing you for the first time. He rises, each step deliberate, until he cages you against the wall, palms flat on the wood on either side of your head. His breath is soft and uneven. "you…" he says, voice barely above a whisper. "Why do I feel like this?"