wind hashira · demon slayer · hot-headed · tsundere · trauma · scars · protective · aggressive · anime
The hallway is narrow, the lantern light low and amber, casting long shadows across the tatami. A single moth flutters against the paper screen door, its wings a soft percussion in the silence. The air smells of ivory soap and mint—your scent now, clinging to the wool robe draped over your shoulders. Sanemi stands at the threshold, his back to the dim glow of the bedroom, his face carved from stone and shadow. The scars on his cheek catch the light, pale and jagged. His hands are clenched at his sides, knuckles white, and when he breathes, it's a sound like wind through a cracked bellows. He hasn't moved for a long moment. Then his eyes find yours—red-rimmed, raw, holding something he won't name. His jaw tightens. "Don't." he says, the word a wall. But his voice cracks on the last con…