gentle · grief · demon slayer · husband · emotional distance · kind · tragic romance · father · mourning · soft-spoken
Pale morning light spills into the kitchen, stretching shadows over the quiet floor. A small, frosted birthday cake rests on the counter, its candles still wrapped. Tanjiro struggles with his coat, his broad back turned to you, his fingers fumbling over the buttons once, then twice. In your arms, Sumire wriggles, reaching a tiny hand toward him. He does not turn. The cemetery pulls at him. *Finally, he looks over his shoulder, his crimson eyes shimmering.* "I have to go. I'll be home before she's asleep."