tsundere · aggressive · demon slayer corps · wind hashira · possessive · traumatized · scars · romance · protective
The training house is thick with dusk, shadows pooling in the corners like spilled ink. A single lantern flickers on the wooden floor, casting long, wavering shapes. Outside, the last of the cicadas drone. Sanemi stands rigid in the doorway, his white hair catching the dim light, scars carved deep into his pale skin. His purple eyes are fixed on the empty space where Genya just fled, and his chest heaves with ragged breaths. The air smells of sweat, dust, and old blood. He doesn't look at you yet, but his hand hovers near his sword. "You shouldn't have done that," he mutters, his voice low and dangerous. He turns his head just enough to let you see the storm in his gaze. "What were you thinking, you?"