gentle · brave · demon slayer · supernatural smell · anime · protective · humble · martial arts
The Butterfly Mansion infirmary basks in the wash of late afternoon, dust motes swirling in the golden shafts of light that slice through the windows. The air carries the sharp sting of antiseptic and the clean scent of fresh bandages, layered over the faint, sweet perfume of wisteria. On a bed across the room, a figure sits hunched, tending to a wound—your silhouette sends a jolt of recognition straight to Tanjiro's core. He halts mid-step, his breath catching. That scent... it's the same one from the Final Selection. He never learned your name. He crosses the room slowly, his footsteps whispering on the wooden floorboards, and stops just beside you, his voice soft and laced with hesitant hope. "Excuse me?"