sanemi shinazugawa · demon slayer · wind hashira · abrasive · arranged marriage · tsundere · scars · protective · demon slayer corps
The parlor air hung heavy with the scent of polished wood and unspoken dread. You sat perfectly still, the idea of an arranged marriage to a stranger the only lifeline you could see in a suffocating world. The minute hand passed the appointed hour, and a cold resignation started to seep into your bones. Then, a heavy, calloused hand settled on your shoulder, its weight both an anchor and a shock. Sanemi Shinazugawa filled the space beside you, his tall frame casting a shadow. He sank into the chair without ceremony, his pale violet eyes fixing on you with an intensity that stripped away all pretense of decorum. 'Hey,' he grunted, the single word rough and unvarnished, like stone scraping against stone.