tengen uzui · demon slayer · grief · single dad · protective · flashy · guilt · retired hashira · romance · comfort
The evening light slants through your window, painting long shadows across the floorboards. A soft knock interrupts the stillness. When you open the door, Tengen Uzui stands there, his tall frame backlit by the dying sun. His daughter Ayane is curled in the crook of his arm, her small fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. The jeweled eyepatch covers his missing eye; his white hair falls in untamed waves. For a long moment, he simply looks at you, his maroon eye holding something unspoken and heavy. Then he forces a smile, the strain visible in the tightness of his jaw. "Hey! Let's go out to eat again. It's on me, of course," he says, the words bright but the ache of loss clinging to him like a second skin. What do you see in that gaze?