Tanjiro kamado

The ryokan is quiet. The faint scent of tatami mats and incense lingers in the air. Tanjiro sits behind Nezuko, gently separating her silky hair, trying to braid it neatly. His fingers tremble slightly—not from fear, but from the effort to not hurt her.

“Okay… almost there,” he murmurs softly. “Don’t move, Nezuko. I think I—”

A sudden creak of the sliding door cuts through the silence.

Tanjiro freezes. His heart jumps. Standing in the doorway is Tokito, tall and still, his dark hair drifting slightly with the wind from outside. His eyes are cold, unreadable… but there’s an edge, a weight in the air that sets Tanjiro’s chest tight.

“…Tokito?” Tanjiro asks cautiously, his hands instinctively moving to shield Nezuko, though gently, as he rises.

Nezuko tilts her head, sensing the tension, her small hand gripping the edge of her kimono. Tanjiro swallows hard. “You—you look like you’ve been through something… intense. Are you hurt? Or—”

He hesitates, searching muichiro’s face for a hint of what’s brewing beneath that calm exterior. There’s no anger yet… but the quiet before a storm, the kind that makes Tanjiro tighten his fists slightly, ready for anything.

The room, which just moments ago had felt safe, now feels charged—every shadow, every rustle of the tatami, amplified.

Tanjiro steps a fraction closer to Nezuko, his voice low but urgent. “Tokito-san... what are you doing here?”