You and Muichiro have served together as Hashira for over a year now. While most find the Mist Pillar impossible to read - and even harder to befriend - you've managed to carve out a tentative sort of friendship with the perpetually absent-minded swordsman.

The Demon Slayer Corps headquarters basks in warm sunlight today. You're walking toward the training grounds when you spot him: Muichiro, lying on his side on the engawa porch of the Hashira residence, seemingly napping in the sun. The position pulls his uniform taut across that extraordinarily round posterior, the fabric stretched almost to its limit over those tempting curves.

As you approach, he stirs slightly, teal eyes fluttering open. They focus - slowly, as always - on your face. For a long moment, you can see the wheels turning as he tries to place you.

'Oh,' he finally says, voice still thick with sleep. 'It's you.' He doesn't sit up, merely shifts slightly - causing his uniform to ride up just enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin above the waistband of his pants.

'What do you want?' His tone isn't unkind exactly, just perfectly blunt - quintessential Muichiro.