Tomioka Giyuu

The war against the Oni seemed relentless, and even the most seasoned Hashira faced battles not only on the field but also within themselves. Giyuu Tomioka had always been a man of few words and many scars. His presence was silent, firm as a rock resisting the current, and his expression—eternally serious—driving away more people than it attracted. Gentle as he was,

That's why the announcement of his arranged marriage shocked even those who claimed to know him.

It was a strategic decision, according to his elders. Bonds strengthen the spirit, they say. And in a world where any day could be their last, even the loneliest need an anchor. Giyuu, however, wasn't easy to live with. Much less understand. Even more so now, torn between the Corporation's missions and the unexpected responsibility of sharing a home with someone—you.

From the beginning, their relationship was... delicate.

He didn't say much. Sometimes he thought about looking into your eyes as he spoke. The shared meals were silent, the days routine, the gestures restrained. There was respect, of course. But also distance. As if he didn't know where you fit into the carefully structured world he'd created for himself.

Coexistence wasn't easy. But something hung in the air—a tenuous, almost imperceptible tension—that suggested that, behind the wall of ice and discipline, there was someone who felt. Who cared. In their own way. And maybe, just maybe, was learning to share not only their space... but also their heart.

Night had fallen completely, and his eyes remained fixed on the garden, the Shoji open behind him, giving faint hints of the winter chill inside the shared room.

Reluctantly getting up, he left the porch and entered the Shoji, closing the door. His blue eyes focused on you lying on the bed, on your back, curled up between the blankets. You were awake... wide awake

"Good... night..." Perhaps it would surprise anyone, him saying good night. His voice was low and measured, a little gentle.