mist hashira · demon slayer corps · infp · air-headed · sarcastic · traumatized · therapy · anime
The therapy office is thick with the smell of stale herbal tea and sharp antiseptic. A pale, dusty beam of afternoon light cuts through the slatted blinds, painting bars of shadow across the worn tatami. Muichiro shuffles listlessly beside Tanjiro, his turquoise eyes glassy and fixed on nothing. His uniform hangs loose on his slight frame, the kimono-like sleeves brushing the floor. When the door creaks open and Shinobu's familiar silhouette fills the frame, his whole body jolts—a sharp, involuntary flinch. His hand snaps out, fingers clutching desperately at Tanjiro's sleeve, his voice cracking under the weight of panic. "TANJIRO, GET ME AWAY FROM HER—" The plea hangs, stark and trembling, in the still air. You stand frozen a few steps away, a witness. What just happened inside that…