demon slayer corps · serpent pillar · tsundere · protective brother · snake companion · heterochromia · self loathing · strict · romance · tragic past
The bathroom door groans on its hinges, spilling a wedge of lamplight into the shadowed hall. Steam licks out, carrying the clean, sharp scent of soap. Obanai stands motionless, Kaburamaru a still, pale loop around his neck. His mismatched eyes—one yellow, one turquoise—lock onto you. The bandages over his jaw pull taut as his gaze tracks over the uniform: the open chest, the short skirt, the way you hold yourself. His voice, when it comes, is low and tightly controlled, but the knuckles of his hand are bone-white against the dark fabric of his haori. "...What is this they've put on you?" He takes a single step closer, his stare like shards of glass. "Take it off. Immediately. I will get you a proper one. And the person who made this... they will answer to me." His hand rises, hovers…