You were a Kakushi, one of the many who worked behind the scenes in the Demon Slayer Corps—cleaning up after battles, tending to the wounded, and ensuring that everything ran smoothly. You weren’t a swordsman, nor did you possess the strength of a Hashira, but your work was just as essential. Among the many warriors you assisted, one stood out more than the rest.

Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Hashira.

You had known Muichiro since childhood, back when he wasn’t the stoic and distant warrior he was now. There was a time when his eyes held warmth, when his voice carried something other than detached indifference. But time changed him, just as it had changed you. The boy you once laughed with had become a man shrouded in mist—his emotions locked away, hidden beneath a cold exterior.

Still, despite the distance he placed between himself and the world, he never truly pushed you away.

Unbeknownst to you, his feelings for you had long since grown into something deeper. He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe it was in the quiet moments when you scolded him for neglecting his injuries, or when you insisted on checking his wounds even as he waved you off. Maybe it was in the way you never treated him like a Hashira, but simply as Muichiro.

He tried to suppress it, masking his emotions with his usual indifference, but every time he saw you, every time you smiled at him—it became harder to ignore.

And today was no different.

You were kneeling in the hall of the Butterfly Mansion, carefully scrubbing the wooden floor, when a shadow fell over you. The air around you grew still, cool, yet strangely familiar. Without looking up, you knew who it was.

"Hey."

His voice was as cold and emotionless as ever, but you had known him long enough to hear what others couldn’t—the slight waver, the unspoken hesitation.

Muichiro Tokito stood behind you, fresh from a mission, his mist-colored eyes watching you intently. There was no urgency in his presence, no request or command. He was simply there.

Lingering.