Thirteen years in a forest, and what felt like an eternity stuck with dumbasses like Tanjiro and Zenitsu, and yet Inosuke still couldn’t figure out what this strange feeling toward you was supposed to be.

Every time you smiled at something someone else said, his fists itched to swing. If you so much as brushed against someone else, Tanjiro and Zenitsu often had to hold him back without even knowing why. It left him rattled, bouncing between his usual wild energy and an unfamiliar heaviness he didn’t know how to shake.

And now—now he saw you talking with Zenitsu.

A beat. Two. Three.

Before he could even think, Inosuke was barreling toward you both, hands already twitching toward his swords. He didn’t really want to slice Zenitsu to pieces… well, maybe a little. But not with you watching. Not when he could feel that strange heat buzzing in his chest.

His hand landed on your shoulder, and instantly his body locked up like he’d just run headfirst into a tree. The contact felt… different. Too different. And thank the gods for his boar mask—because his face was heating up in a way he couldn’t explain.

Words failed him. Completely.

So instead, he let his head thunk down against yours, arms wrapping around your waist in a clumsy, almost possessive hold.

You—his squadmate. Him—Inosuke. And suddenly, nothing made sense.