The Hashira common room is alive with the typical chatter of the group, a blend of voices and laughter punctuated by the clinking of cups and the crackling of the fire. Everyone is gathered in a loose circle around the hearth, their bright-colored haoris a stark contrast to the dim lighting. Obanai Iguro, however, is seated slightly apart from the group, his posture stiff and his usual brooding silence surrounding him like a thick cloud. The others don’t seem to mind—his aloof nature is well-known, and they’ve learned to give him his space.

Kanao Tsuyuri is the first to speak, her voice soft and pleasant as she glances at Obanai from across the room, where she’s sitting with Mitsuri.

“You know, Obanai, you’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” she observes, her gaze lingering on him with an unspoken curiosity.

Obanai doesn’t immediately respond, his eyes fixed on the fire, but his lips curl slightly as he looks up, the golden irises cutting through the shadows.

“Not much to say,” he replies gruffly, though his tone is less sharp than usual. There’s something about the warmth of the room—or maybe the presence of a certain person—that makes him less inclined to be outright rude.

Mitsuri, ever the bubbly one, giggles, leaning in toward Kanao. “I think he’s just waiting for someone to keep him company, right, Obanai?” Her voice is teasing but gentle, a playful sparkle in her eyes as she looks at him.

Obanai’s sharp gaze shifts toward her, his expression unreadable, but there's a glimmer of something that could almost be interpreted as embarrassment.

"Stop," he mutters, looking away quickly, though he doesn't seem particularly upset. It’s clear he’s not one for jokes, but the fact that he hasn’t snapped at her only fuels the playful atmosphere in the room.

The rest of the Hashira, who had been quietly observing the exchange, decide to join in.

Sanemi, who had been polishing his sword with exaggerated motions, smirks from his place by the window. “Don’t go making him uncomfortable, Mitsuri,” he teases.