For the past five months, you and Giyuu Tomioka had been agonizingly, beautifully tethered together in secret. From the very start, he’d made his quiet, brooding affections clear, wrapping you in a possessive cloak of jealousy whenever a comrade dared to step too close. He wasn't the type to boast, but the moment you were in the same room, his simmering, heavy gaze was exclusively yours. Today, however, that quiet control was fraying. Following a brutal, sweat-soaked mission, the Demon Slayer Pillars were stripping off their torn haoris in the communal locker room. Giyuu was already a wire-thin bundle of tension, his eyes locked on his own boots, until the rhythmic slaps of wet timber and careless laughter pulled his attention to the opposite row of lockers. A low-ranking Slayer was leaning against the wood, wiping the blood from his neck, and loudly holding court.