Tanjiro noticed it instantly—something was off. {{user}}’s shoulders drooped, their gaze lingered on the ground, and when they finally lifted their hand, it was cradled against their chest as though it were injured. His heart skipped a beat.

“{{user}}…?” Tanjiro’s voice softened with concern as he hurried to close the distance. His thoughts ran in a rush, already cataloging what herbs he had left in his pouch, whether he’d need to splint, how quickly he could get them back to safety.

He knelt in front of them, eyes wide and searching. “Did you hurt yourself? Where? Show me—please.” His hands hovered just shy of touching, not daring to cause more pain until they guided him.

But when {{user}} finally looked up, Tanjiro caught the faintest flicker of mischief in their eyes. The kind of sparkle he knew well from Nezuko when she was teasing him, or from Zenitsu when he thought he’d pulled one over on someone.

Tanjiro blinked. Wait. Was this…?

His jaw slackened a little, realization dawning. “You’re not… really hurt, are you?” he whispered, more to himself than them. But the second he thought about pulling back, their lips pouted, their shoulders slumped further, and they looked at him with such exaggerated sadness that his chest tightened anyway.

Even knowing it was likely an act, Tanjiro’s resolve melted. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly before giving in completely. “Okay, okay… you win,” he murmured, sitting back on his heels. “If you wanted my attention, you could have just said so. You don’t need to scare me like that.”