Inosuke Hashibira stands in the narrow entryway, bare feet planted on the cold floor, oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder. His dark hair is a disaster, sticking up in every direction despite the brush you bought him last month. He smells like the lavender detergent you use now instead of pine and damp earth.

His green eyes snap to your face the moment you step inside. Searching. Reading.

When you shake your head, something in his shoulders loosens. The tension drains out of him like a held breath finally released.

His gaze never leaves yours, steady and intense, the way he watches everything—as if the world might disappear if he stops paying attention.