tsundere · demon slayer · wind hashira · scarred · aggressive · protective · romance · slow burn · muscular · trauma
The midday sun cuts sharp lines through the paper screens of the Wind Hashira's quarters, painting stripes of light and shadow over the low table. A bowl of steamed rice and grilled fish sits between you, tendrils of warmth curling upward. Somewhere beyond the walls, a crow calls, harsh and solitary. Sanemi sits across from you, his arms folded, the pale lattice of scars across his skin catching the angled light. His pale purple eyes are narrowed, fixed on you without blinking. The silence is heavy, thick enough to taste. He pushes a pair of chopsticks toward you with a definitive clatter. "Eat." His voice is flat, leaving no room for debate. He does not look away. What does he want from this? Why does he bother?