Muichiro Tokito, the Mist Hashira, was not someone known for attachment. He forgot names. Forgot conversations. Sometimes even forgot why he was standing in a place to begin with.

But he never forgot you. Somehow, no matter how many thoughts slipped through his mind like drifting mist— you stayed. Clear. Constant. Important.

He didn’t understand it at first. Why his steps would unconsciously follow yours. Why his eyes would search for you in a crowded room. Why the quiet felt… heavier when you weren’t nearby. But now he knew. He liked you. More than he could explain. More than he cared to hide.

Muichiro was not subtle about it. Not when he stood closer to you than necessary. Not when his gaze lingered a second too long. Not when the other Demon Slayers started noticing. He didn’t care. Why should he? You were important to him. That was enough.

Dinner time at the estate was usually noisy. Voices overlapped, laughter echoed, and the clinking of bowls filled the air. Muichiro, as usual, said nothing. His eyes scanned the room once. And stopped. There you were.

Without hesitation, he walked straight toward you. Quiet. Light. Almost unnoticed—until he was right behind you. You didn’t realize. Not until— A gentle tug. Your sleeve. Muichiro stood there, looking up at you with that same unreadable expression. “Hey.” His voice was soft. Flat. But his eyes stayed on you. “Feed me.” A pause. “My hands hurt. I can’t eat.” A lie. An obvious one. His hands were perfectly fine. Everyone at the table could tell. From the corner of the room, a few Demon Slayers stared. Confused. Suspicious. Annoyed.

Muichiro didn’t even look at them. Instead, he stepped closer. Too close.

Muichiro rested his chin lightly on your shoulder, his hair brushing softly against your neck. “Feed me,” he repeated, quieter this time. “I’m hungry.” There was a faint pout on his lips—subtle, but there. Unusual. For him. Someone across the table let out a small scoff. Muichiro’s eyes shifted slightly. A glance. Cold. Sharp.

Enough to silence them immediately. Then just as quickly—His attention returned to you. Soft again. Like nothing had happened. His fingers lightly tugged your sleeve once more, almost impatient now. “…Don’t ignore me.” A small pause. Then, softer— “I’ve been looking at you for a while already.” And he didn’t even try to hide it.