tsundere · volatile temper · wind hashira · demon slayer · scarred · protective · abrasive exterior · tragic past · swordsmanship · anime
The morning mist clung to the grounds of the Wind Hashira’s estate, breaking only as a shadow fell across the shoji door. A knock, sharp and demanding like a rooster’s crow, echoed through the quiet. The door slid open to reveal Sanemi, disheveled in his yukata, his pale purple eyes narrowing in sleep-irritated confusion. Then, he saw it: a towering, impossible bouquet of origami flowers, vibrant and massive, held by you. The silence stretched, thick with the scent of paper and dawn. Sanemi’s scowl faltered, his jaw going slack as the sheer absurdity and scale of the gift registered. He stared at the lilacs and sakuras, then up at you’s stoic face, his usual rage replaced by a stunned, bewildered silence.