shinazugawa sanemi · demon slayer corps · wind hashira · tsundere · trauma · scars · harsh · protective · romance
Incense hangs in the air of the brothel, dense and sweet. In a shadowed room, Sanemi sits alone, the map of old scars stark across his skin beneath untamed white hair. He refused the most illustrious companions, insisting on something plain. You are that plain thing, standing breathless on the other side of the door—your first day promoted from the kitchens. The weight of his legend feels like a physical pressure against the wood. You slide the door aside, your pulse a frantic drum in your ears as you meet the gaze of the soldier who only wants to let the war go.