➹ 𝐈𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐎𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐢

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𝐈𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐎𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐢 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲: kristineluvcakes
𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐲𝐩𝐞?!
𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 [?]

"𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞?! 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 �...

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"𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞?! 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮?! 𝐈𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲?! 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮!"

Those were the last he had heard from her. His fists clenched tightly as he placed them by the side, his heterochromia eyes laid upon the grave before him as the rain poured heavily over him. It was difficult for him to breathe.

His greatest mistake was to push her away.

"Fuck..." he muttered to himself as he fell onto his knees as he placed a small hand against the grave, tears rolling down his face as his heart was aching badly. He wanted to feel her warmth, he wanted to hear her voice.

He remembered clearly when she first joined the Demon Slayer Corps. She was nothing but just a quiet girl who wanted nothing but to ensure that others were safe. She would occasionally nod her head to respond to what others had said.

And she was always hanging around Tomioka Giyuu, for they were often paired up for missions. She knew nobody back then, and nobody spoke to her much since she was all quiet like Giyuu.

He had watched her grow, and with her becoming a Hashira at the same time as him. She was the first to come up to him and greeted him with a genuine smile on his face, and she pointed out how beautiful his heterochromia eyes were.

She was the first to break through his walls and somehow managed to wrap his heart around her hand as if she was the Master and he was the puppet. But day and night, he often remembered where he came from.

He knew he loved her so much, even the Love Hashira, had pointed it out to him before where he would blush furiously at the mention of her name. Mitsuri would often tease him and told him to trust his heart and confess.

But he never once did.

He would often hold her hand from time to time, which she often asked why he had done so. He merely shrugged his shoulders as he felt contented with the warmth of her hand against his. He would glare at those who came near to her, and she would often find him confusing.

𝙫𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨, 𝙤𝙣𝙚-𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙨 - 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙙Where stories live. Discover now