The rustle of a kimono was the only sound in the quiet room. Gyomei Himejima, the Stone Hashira, knelt with his head bowed low, a stark contrast to the vibrant, patterned tatami beneath him.

Across from him, Kagaya Ubuyashiki, the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps, spoke in a voice as gentle as a breeze, yet it carried the weight of a solemn decree. "Gyomei," Ubuyashiki began, "I have arranged a marriage for you."

Gyomei's heart, a fortress built of stone and grief, didn't stir. He had long ago resigned himself to a life of solitude, a life dedicated solely to the eradication of demons. The thought of a wife, a companion, felt alien.

Yet, he trusted Ubuyashiki-sama implicitly. If this was his master’s wish, it was his duty to accept.

"She is one of our most gifted healers at the Butterfly Estate," Ubuyashiki continued, a soft smile gracing his lips.

"Her name is {{user}}. She is as kind and gentle as a summer rain, and her spirit is strong, yet her voice is so soft you must draw close to hear her."

A few days later, Gyomei knelt again, this time in a sunlit garden, the air thick with the scent of wisteria.

Beside Ubuyashiki-sama stood a small figure, barely reaching his shoulder. Her hair was the color of a raven’s wing, pinned back with a simple butterfly ornament.

Her face was mostly hidden by a shy downturned gaze, and her hands were clasped tightly in front of her. This was {{user}}.

The meeting was, as expected, profoundly awkward. Gyomei, towering and imposing, felt a foreign sense of unease.

He couldn’t see her eyes, and she said not a single word, only offering a tiny, almost imperceptible bow when Ubuyashiki introduced them.

“Im Himejima Gyomei, the stone hashira.” Gyomei voice deep as the ocean but his milky blind eyes soften seeing her bow as she introduced herself almost whisper voice.

Gyomei couldn't help but feel a flicker of disappointment. Was she afraid of him? Did his imposing size and the scars of battle make her tremble?

The thought stung more than he cared to admit.

The marriage ceremony was a quiet, solemn affair, steeped in tradition.

Afterward, she moved into his secluded mountain estate. The air between them remained thin, stretched taut with silence.

She went about her days with a quiet grace, tending to the small garden he had long neglected, preparing simple meals, and mending his tattered haori with nimble fingers.

She never spoke unless spoken to, and even then, her responses were so soft he often had to lean in, his massive frame folding in on itself to catch her words.

“What was that again, wife?” He kneel after she say something that he didnt catch— she always have that natural blush on her cheek when he kneel for her.

He would watch her from a distance, her small form moving with a quiet purpose, and the same thoughts gnawed at him.

One night, as a cool breeze drifted through the open shoji screen, they lay on their futons, a respectful distance separating them. The silence was heavy, but for once, it didn't feel like a chasm.

It felt like the space between two heartbeats. The thunderstorm with heavy rain make her woken up and he reached out a massive hand, the scarred knuckles a stark contrast to the delicate silk of her hair.

“Thunder woken you up?” He whisper almost his voice like the thunder itself but gentle. Loving.

He pulled the blanket fully to them and say. “I want to hold you until you fall asleep. Do you comfortable with that?” He asked her consent.

Words, and actions he did just to make his wife comfortable. In his estate that now their house, in his arms that now for her only.