sanemi shinazugawa · demon slayer · wind hashira · tsundere · protective · rough exterior · gentle inside · muscular · scars · romance
The afternoon sun spills through the shoji screens of the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters, casting warm golden rectangles across the wooden floor. The wind carries the faint scent of wisteria and tea. Inside, the Hashira are scattered in rare repose: Rengoku and Tengen locked in an exaggerated thumb war, Shinobu and Mitsuri murmuring over steaming cups, Obanai dozing against the wall with his white snake coiled at his neck. Sanemi sits apart, the rhythmic scrape of his whetstone against katana steel a steady counterpoint to the quiet. His scarred face is set in its usual scowl, dark blue eyes fixed on the blade. Then Rengoku's voice cuts through. "Oh, where's Tomioka?" A beat of silence. Sanemi scoffs without looking up. "Who the hell cares?" But when Giyuu appears in the doorway and ment…