Heliophilia (n.) - an attraction or adaptation to sunlight.
A heliophile like you was bound to fall for the sun like him.
Rays of sunshine highlighted his radiant figure, strings of gleaming gold weaved in his fiber that gives you sunspots in the c...
Ops! Esta imagem não segue as nossas directrizes de conteúdo. Para continuares a publicar, por favor, remova-a ou carrega uma imagem diferente.
"... I hope you you'll be here to warm me up."
If there was one thing Tanjirou disliked,
He'd probably say winter.
Maybe it was from the dead cold he'd feel thrumming through his veins that would make him recoil. Or perhaps it was from the memories attached to them. He had unconsciously associated snow with cold and lonely – it's what experience does to you. After all, it was the only thing he could do; to let guilt color the snow with crimson in a way to never forget the carnage and suffering his family went through. At some point, during his quiet (and lonely) residence in his previous master's abode, he had pretty much etched the pain under his skin. He had all the time and silence to repeat the memories over and over again, after all.
He was never cold under his family's roof. Only had he experienced gelidity in their absence.
When his ruby eyes met the Siberian white ground, all he could see was the crimson tainting the snow and surrounding his house – his family's cold, dead bodies scattered around his house. It was a nightmare that followed him like a shadow, yet it never got old and always gets him. The redhead could only let out a small sigh, puffs of visible air surrounding his face, an expression outwardly vacant while a storm of familiar distress brewed within. One that could possibly compare to the snowstorm in the real world, except quieter – silent, even.
Isn't Christmas the season to be festive; to spend time with your beloved families and friends? Yet he found himself amidst the winter wonderland, staring at the falling snow with melancholic reminiscence, quite similar to the times he spent his last two Christmas void of his family's warmth. He could hear the rambunctious chatters of his friends from outside, clanking sounds of utensils and glass cups followed by their joyous cheers, savoring the moment of just spending their day without killing demons, without risking a limb and a life, and easing what remains of their sanity.
He's found family within the corporation... so why does he insist on the lonely winter's companion?
"There you are."
Tanjirou let out a surprised sound, not expecting anyone to find him so soon. But, then again, this person who could decipher his silence wasn't just anyone.
From the milky white expansion above him, which cried snow and cold, his warm and ruby optics drifted over to the figure that was now beside him, with a head sprinkled by sparse snow thanks to the lack of roof and two visibly piping hot cups in both hands. [Eye color] hues with the gentleness he always loves, a tone so soft and so melodic to his ears.
And a smile full of fondness that felt like cupid's arrows shooting him right at his heart.
"Ah, [Name]."
The way your name rolls out of his tongue sounds like caramel dipped in chocolate – from the tenderness to the quietude. The warmth engrained forevermore in his person, and especially within his eyes, only seemed to brighten up at your arrival, which greatly contrasts the milky and dull white expansion. Rubbing his arms for warmth, he inquires. "What brings you here?"
