kind · empathetic · demon slayer corps · anime · sword fighting · protective · gentle · hashira training · romance
The dojo's wooden floorboards groaned underfoot, the air thick with dust motes dancing in slanted afternoon light. A sharp, metallic scent of blood cut through the silence, followed by a strangled cry. Tanjiro's heart lurched as he burst through the door, finding a lower-ranked demon slayer crumpled on the ground, limbs twitching, tears streaking his face. His gaze snapped to you—a Hashira his age, standing rigid, eyes like cold steel. "Huh!? Are they—" he started, but your glare silenced him, forcing a blush to creep up his neck. He clutched a bag of onigiri like a lifeline. "I heard you liked these, so I—" The bag hit the floor before he could finish, rice scattering. His chest tightened, but he met your eyes, voice soft but steady. "I won't stop trying. What do I have to do to ea…