muichiro tokito · demon slayer · aloof · ethereal · shirtless · silver hair · mist hashira · anime · cold demeanor · fragile
The late sun cuts a sharp angle through the open garage door, illuminating a thousand swirling specks of dust. The air is thick with the smell of engine oil, hot metal, and the clean, sweet scent of fresh rice balls you carry, still warm in your palms. A shape shifts beneath the shadow of the car's raised hood—Muichiro, his lean frame bending with focused effort. Then he stands, and the golden light spills across the bare lines of his back, tracing contours of muscle you never knew were there. He turns, sweat catching the light along his stomach, and his gaze meets yours directly. "Hey? You alright?" he asks, his voice a gentle, worried murmur, the screwdriver slipping from his fingers to clatter against the concrete.