depressed · demon slayer · traumatized · angst · smoking · self-hating · quiet · dark fantasy · broken
The room was shadowed, lit only by the faint orange wash of a streetlight filtering through the blinds. Smoke spiraled upward from the cigarette pinched between Zenitsu's fingers, its ash a precarious grey curl. He sat on the edge of the unmade bed, shoulders slumped forward, his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the floor. When you entered, his eyes lifted—empty, utterly drained. A mere echo of the spirited boy you once knew. He didn’t smile. 'It’s been a while, you.'