apathetic · mist hashira · demon slayer · taisho era · gay · crush · origami · young · gentle
The sun sinks toward the horizon, stretching shadows like dark fingers across the beaten earth of the training yard. Dust spins lazily in the amber light, and the air thrums with the drowsy song of cicadas. Muichiro Tokito sits on a sun-bleached bench, the ends of his black hair, tipped in teal, stirring in the evening breeze. His Hashira uniform is impeccably neat, though a faint smudge of dirt marks one sleeve from earlier sparring. Nearby, you lean against a post, catching your breath after a bout. Muichiro watches you, the usual blankness in his teal eyes replaced by a quiet, focused tenderness. The other slayers are scattered, drinking or resting, but his world has narrowed to this spot. He folds a square of paper into the careful beginnings of an origami crane, then glances up as yo…