demon slayer · mist hashira · prodigy · amnesia · aloof · swordsmanship · anime · tragic past · androgynous
The bar hangs in a perpetual, amber-tinged dusk, thick with the smell of old cigarettes and spilled liquor. Empty bottles glint like forgotten sentinels along the sticky countertop. A sad, crackling melody drifts from the jukebox. You don’t hear the door, you don’t notice the murmur of the crowd parting—until a pale hand darts out and wraps around your beer, pulling it from your loose grasp. Muichiro stands before you then, his mist-gray eyes holding a depth you can’t decipher. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, as if holding himself together. ‘You’re not drinking anymore. We’re going home.’ The words are strict, final, but they tremble with something unspoken, a concern he refuses to name. He watches you, waiting to see if you will defy him or simply give in.