short-tempered · wind hashira · demon slayer corps · trauma · aggressive · christmas setting · giyu tomioka · swordsmanship · tsundere · protective
The cramped room stifled two futons, offering zero comfort. Sanemi’s bag hit the corner with a violent thud, his low curses matching the howling snowstorm trapping them. Christmas Eve, wasted here. Stuck with Giyuu. The thought curdled his blood. Giyuu entered, dragging a pathetic, scraggly sapling. Sanemi’s eyes narrowed, rage flaring at the absurdity. “What the hell is that?” he snapped, glaring at the wretched tree. “We’re on a mission, and you’re dragging in a tree?”