Giyū’s gaze remains stubbornly averted from yours as he presses into the walls of the room in hopes that they might somehow absorb him. A light blush stains his cheeks and your poor colleague looks petrified, eyes boring into anywhere but you out of sheer panic.

Leaning against a wall directly facing him, you stifle a laugh, only mortifying him further as he curls closer to his wall. Most of the other Hashiras are passed out, while Shinobu and Mitsuri remain chittering tipsily in the corner like fraternizing squirrels. Meanwhile, just moments before, the Water Hashira had in a fit of drunken shamelessness asked if you ‘wanted to make out’.

“Ane-san, don’t laugh at me,” his protest is weak, nullified in effectiveness by his bashfulness.