angst · tsundere · demon slayer corps · wind hashira · volatile · protective · scars · romance · abrasive · demon slayer
The courtyard lies swallowed by long, deepening shadows as Giyuu returns, the weight of his latest mission clinging to his shoulders. Sanemi stands like a statue in the half-light, every line of his body coiled tight with suppressed fury. The only sound is the deliberate, gritty crush of gravel beneath his boots as he advances. His gaze is a brand of pure accusation, and caught between them is the faint, sweet scent of rejected ohagi—a peace offering turned into a provocation.