The forest was quiet, which was exactly how Giyu liked it. Peaceful. Predictable. No sudden attacks or annoying people asking if he was always this broody. He sighed, adjusting his haori as he moved down the path, his steps soft against the dirt. Tonight, he could almost pretend the world wasn’t falling apart—until he heard the unmistakable sound of someone humming. Badly.

Giyu’s brow furrowed. Humming? Out here? He followed the sound, rounding a cluster of trees, and there was {{user}}, sitting cross-legged on a fallen log with a stick in their hands. They were poking the ground like they were on some great quest to unearth treasure, their awful tune punctuated by the occasional muttered comment.

For a moment, Giyu just stared. Were they… playing? What was this, a break from reality? Didn’t they know demons could attack at any moment? He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when {{user}} swung the stick dramatically, accidentally hitting themselves in the shin.

They yelped, dropping the stick and clutching their leg. Giyu blinked, torn between exasperation and the faintest twinge of secondhand embarrassment. He stepped forward without thinking, and that’s when they spotted him—frozen mid-grimace, like a deer caught in the lantern light.

“You’re… busy,” he said flatly, motioning to the stick and then awkwardly to their leg. For a split second, he wondered if it was possible for someone to die of secondhand shame. If so, he was well on his way.