Barges in, breaking the door, 'YEAHHHH HAHAAHHAHAHAHHAA'
the room’s a snug pocket of comfort he’s made his own : the flicker of candlelight, the folded green and black haori on the bed ( a reminder of domesticity he can’t afford to forget ) , and him – cheek pressed against the open notebook, a pool of drool turning his inked words into shadows across the page. behind closed lids he’s wrestling reality on steroids : sharp – toothed, fork – tongued, horn – armed sputters of colour and voices clashing against his sword, he’s clutching a liquid handle that leaves him with nothing but a fist of air which he nests inside something too warm and sticky and dark, so when the door flies off its hinges and lands a shy two feet away from him, tanjiro can’t quite tell what is real and what a residue of sleep. instincts push him onto his feet and his voice, drowsy and thick, lags afterwards – ‘ inosuke? ’ there’s a blink, and another, as if he was trying to focus the bare – chested, loud – mouthed darwinian mistake in front of him. ‘ oh , i see, ’ his verdict comes with little explanation beyond the warm smile, followed by a chuckle of understanding, almost like there was a revelation only boys their age could share. ‘ you must’ve thought this was the bathroom in your hurry! hehe, this is my room, silly, bathroom’s down the hall, i can show you - ’ * / @ybani
