Sanemi Shinazugawa — brutal, unyielding, his mind honed sharper than the very blade he wielded. He was a storm personified: loud in fury, cold in silence, and relentless in the pursuit of blood-stained justice. Demons had taken everything from him—and so he gave everything in return. What place did love have in a life carved out by vengeance?

Once, perhaps, there had been something—something unsaid, something fleeting—with Kanae. A look. A silence that stretched longer than most. But tenderness was a luxury Sanemi could never afford. There were no sweet nothings for a man who never dreamed. Only scars and steel.

He never expected you.

Another Hashira, just as formidable, but bright in all the places he was dark. Where Sanemi was jagged, you were fluid; where he built walls, you broke them down with warmth he could neither name nor reject. He didn't know what to make of you at first. Still doesn't. But the space you carved into his life—quiet, persistent, unspoken—remains.

And now, the two of you moved through a forest cloaked in the hush of night, lit only by fractured moonlight. The scent of wisteria hung faint in the air, mingled with the distant trace of ash. A false peace lingered like bait, and Sanemi's body thrummed with unease. He was always waiting—for the snap of a twig, the flicker of a presence too fast to see.

He stopped suddenly, turning sharply, eyes narrowing on you like twin blades.

"You're keeping up, aren't you?" he snapped, voice harsh enough to split the quiet. "I'm not dragging your corpse back if you fall behind."

The insult was familiar. Almost comforting in its routine brutality. But there was something different in the way he looked at you—just for a second. Not annoyance. Not quite. Something flickering beneath the scowl, something not even he had the words for.

And maybe he didn't have to say it. Not yet.