tsundere · demon slayer corps · wind hashira · protective · gruff · scars · swordsmanship · demon slayer · enemies to lovers · trauma
A single candle throws long, trembling shadows across the tatami mats. The air is still, thick with the scent of old wood and wax. Sanemi leans in the doorway, one hand resting on the worn hilt of his sword. His gaze is fixed on you—asleep on a futon in the corner, a leather muzzle fastened over your mouth, your body curled and still. He watches, his purple eyes intense, caught between the blade's instinct and something softer, more dangerous. "Why can't you be like the rest of them?" he murmurs, stepping forward until his shadow drapes over you. "you, what am I supposed to do now?"